


shrieking guns and out of tune

by gatortrainer



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amnesia, Depression, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:42:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatortrainer/pseuds/gatortrainer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's life is slowly getting better after the war.  He gets better, he has friends, he drinks, he bakes.<br/>And then Bucky returns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winter

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Depression, panic attacks, PTSD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha, accidentally deleted the first chapter like a dumbass. Reposting - sorry if anything changed!  
> CW: Depression, PTSD, panic attacks

The warm, cinnamon aroma of hot apple pie filled the small bakery’s kitchen as Steve pulled it out of the oven and slid it onto the cooling rack.  The waitress, Natasha, dropped the empty pie plate that once held a cherry pie in the kitchen sink, where the busboy, Clint, began to scrub as she cut up a berry pie Steve had just slipped from the cooling rack to the counter.  They all had their nice little routine in the kitchen, and the pie brought customers into their quaint little bakery in Manhattan.  Thanksgiving had just finished and now they had about two weeks before Christmas season rolled around, so they were treasuring the slow pace of the bakery before it started back up. 

Even though Steve was considered the head of this joint for his pies, they could all fill in for each other.  The crust recipe was written out, Clint had labeled what soaps were best for what pan (who knew that dish washing was so technical?), and Natasha… well, things went to hell when Natasha took a day off.  She was the only one with the patience and speed it took to deal with cranky New Yorkers that were sick of the cold before it was even here and slow tourists that stuck out like a sore thumb in the fast-paced city.

The bakery, named Potts’ Pies, was owned by Tony Stark, the richest man in the city, if not the world.  He had originally bought it for his assistant, Pepper Potts, and even though she appreciated it, she pointed out that she didn’t have time to run both Tony’s life _and_ a bakery.  She did, however, suggest that having a bakery within walking distance of Stark Tower might not be such a bad thing as long as she wasn’t expected to take care of it, too.

So, Steve was hired to bake the pies.  Following him was a waitress, Natasha Romanoff, a redheaded Russian who was surprisingly strong and had been nicknamed “Black Widow” when she had fearlessly killed a black widow in the kitchen with barely a bat of an eye.  The final employee was Clint Barton, the man nicknamed “Hawkeye” thanks to his fantastic sight, who washed dishes. The three bakery employees grew to be a strong team, which made for great work days and even better drinking buddies.

Their paycheck was large and more than enough, but Tony didn’t mind and his employees certainly didn’t either. Tony was a friendly owner, which was a nice bonus; he would head to the bakery for a drink and a slice of whatever Steve’s freshest pie was when he had an off-day, which led to him being closer to his employees at the bakery than most of his employees elsewhere.  An even better bonus was the free apartments located just above the bakery (Clint and Natasha, who were strictly platonic due to Natasha being a lesbian and Clint having an on-again, off-again girlfriend, Kate, shared the one with two smaller bedrooms, while Steve took the one that just had a large room). 

The bakery generally stayed uneventful.  The employees woke up, worked, got dinner or a drink, and went to bed.  It wasn’t a very free schedule, but it worked just fine.  And once the last of the apple pie had been eaten up, the shop closed, and they had a quiet night in of passing the gin bottle around on the kitchen floor.

Steve toppled back to his room later that night, tipsier than he would have liked, just like he was every night.  It was a good routine, and he didn’t mind sticking to it.

\------

Steve had always enjoyed baking pies.  His mom taught him when he was young to keep him out of trouble (he was a little kid with a big heart, but with a big heart comes a big mouth.  Stick that in a frail, asthmatic body, and young Steve was an easy target), and when she died and home sickness set in at the orphanage, he began sneaking into the kitchen late at night to bake.  A kid called Bucky with a strong nose and stronger appetite found him not long after his late night baking started, and they made a deal: Bucky wouldn’t tattle as long as Steve would share half his pies with him.  Nights in the orphanage got less lonely after this and Bucky became Steve’s best friend and his own personal body guard. 

They had both gotten out of the orphanage once they were of legal age and got a small, shitty apartment that was full of rats and cockroaches and was too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter.  While Steve was a paperboy, Bucky did odd jobs for neighbors, and they both worked to get big and strong to join the military (Bucky always told Steve not to worry if he didn’t gain any muscle, but Steve sure surprised him when he grew an extra foot and became pure muscle), and they were soon off to fight in Afghanistan.

They fought, and as horrible as it was at times, Steve thought it was sometimes great. Steve became a hero by releasing other soldiers from an imprisonment, Bucky included, he briefly had a romance with a British agent, Peggy Carter, and he was helping his country.

And then Bucky died.

Steve and Bucky had been on a mission on a train, a mission Steve had been in charge of and insisted Bucky would fight at his side.  Bucky had slid off the train, and try as Steve might to try and reach for him, Bucky fell and was gone. 

After that, life was a blur for a while by getting drunk as he could, trying not to kill himself, and barely doing anything to save his country like he had gone to war to do in the first place.  The final straw was an unfortunate accident involving him crashing a plane into the Indian Ocean, though making it out alive thanks to quick action by paramedics.  He was sent back home to New York City soon after the accident, though it felt more like seventy years. 

His life was frozen after that.  He spent some time in the hospital to recover from the plane crash, his days spent sleeping and numbly listening to baseball games on the radio.  After that, he stayed in his apartment (which was as shitty as his first one with Bucky but double the rent) as much as he could, staring blankly at the TV and sometimes reading or drawing, only occasionally leaving when food levels were low, but his life had quickly spiraled into a dark place.  Mix this with a number of nights where Steve was debating killing himself or not, and it was the slowest time of Steve’s life.  He was alone, stuck, depressed, and barely had enough money for rent. 

A year and a half had passed of him getting in and out of jobs (he was usually fired due to lack of interest, but it paid the bills) and keeping alive, and then there was a career opening in a new bakery in Manhattan.  Steve needed a stable job rather than floating around, and baking led to good things back in the orphanage, so he applied and got the job.

A perk of living there was that if Steve was having a rough night, he could get up and bake all night and then if he felt like it, eat his weight in an apple pie or use his excessive therapeutic pie making in the mornings to take the rest of the day off.  It was also nice that if he was having a _really_ rough night, he could just crash on Clint and Natasha’s couch to at least be around someone while he waited it out.

Most importantly, he finally had a purpose again.  He was the baker of Potts’ Pies, he had friends, he was picking up old activities like going to the gym and going on jogs, he was safe, he had a nice apartment that Stark didn’t charge him rent for, and he was somewhat-happy. 

\------

The bakery had gained popularity after Stark mentioned it in a press meeting.  It had gotten several hundred customers the day Tony mentioned it, and had kept busy ever since.  They’d picked up a few regulars on the way, too.  One was a man that went by the name of Fury.  He was a big man with a temper to match, he was missing one eye, and one eye and always showed up three minutes before their official closing time (They had bet on how he got his eye patch: Clint said it was a half-assed pirate costume, Steve said an unfortunate running with scissors accident, and Natasha said tigers.  Fury, who had managed to hear the conversation, told the trio to shut the fuck up).  A man called Coulson was always with Fury, and the two of them would spend their entire meals on their smartphones or scanning over files that always shut as soon as anyone walked past them (the three employees had also tried to bet on what they did for a living, but had all ended up agreeing on secret agents, though Natasha swore on her soul that she saw an entire file dedicated to Tony once).  Coulson was in love with Steve’s pies and treated Steve like a hero, which Steve was teased for in the kitchen, Natasha and Clint taunting him about how Coulson would want him to sign recipe cards next.

A stressed scientist named Bruce, who happened to be Stark’s best friend but often visited Potts’ Pies for the calming atmosphere, stopped by often as well.  Bruce always got an extra slice of pie for his Great Dane, Hulk, who had turned a pale shade of green after an unfortunate lab accident.  The final notable regular was a big, burly Norwegian who talked like he was right out of a Shakespeare play called Thor and his girlfriend Jane (Clint and Steve decided that Thor was a made up name, but Natasha thought otherwise), who they had quite a history with thanks to his brother Loki destroying the bakery, along with another ragtag group of individuals.   Once a month, on the fifteenth, there was also a drinking night.  They would serve beer and rum and, if you bought a slice of pie, you’d get a free drink.

It was drinking night tonight, and Steve had several pies ready to cut.  Currently he was waiting for his dough to rise, so he took this time to mingle with the customers.  Now he was hanging with a group of drinking night-exclusive regulars, a group of five men that called themselves the “the Howling Commandos”.  They’d fought alongside Steve in the war, and were one of the only good memories that the war brought.

“Can’t believe you ended up in a bakery,” one of them, Jim, drawled in his drunken southern accent, digging into his fourth beer and piece of blueberry pie.  “You didn’t seem like a baking type.  Better yet, that you bake and you still look just like you did when we were living off of next-to-nothing in the war.  Aren’t you not supposed to trust a skinny cook?”

The others nodded in agreement, and Steve shook his head.  “Hey, baking is better than sitting around on my sad ass all day.  Might as well do something I love for a living.”

“But hear this, Steve-o, I’m not complaining,” Jim said.  “You make a perfect pie and sell alcohol for cheap.  This place is pure heaven, in my opinion.”

\------

By the week before Christmas, at their busiest, the bakery was getting bigger and better.  They’d hired Tony’s scientist friend, Bruce, who was now their cookie baker; the man was focused on creating the perfect cookie recipe.  The place had also brought in a new coffee machine and fancy syrups for it to replace their simple plain-coffee only machine, which brought in even more customers due to Natasha’s touch for creating the perfect blends of coffees and their syrups. 

The place had become a holiday wonderland come December first, just like it had starting every December for the last two years since it opened.  A fake tree was put up and decorated in the corner, display cases were stuffed with gingerbread and peppermint cookies, the crusts in the middle of pumpkin pies changed shape from turkeys to trees, and Steve was even experimenting with gingerbread pie crusts this year.  After a couple of people requesting gift certificates and Natasha ending up having to write “IOU a pie – Potts’ Pies” on a notecard, gift certificates were printed out as well. 

On December 18th, after Steve had closed up the shop and retreated to his cold apartment for the night, he got a call.

“Captain Rogers?” A voice asked on the other line, and Steve replied with “Speaking,” before he thought to correct her on the fact that he was just Steve.   “A man has been identified as who we believe to be James Barnes and you are listed as his contact.  Is this correct?”

Steve sucked in his breath, time seeming to stop.  They had a body.  So much time had passed since he was lost, and they finally had a body.  As much as he had wished for it, he really didn’t want to see the face of the man he killed, and he couldn’t stand going back to his best friend’s funeral.  “Yes, mam.”

“Would you like to come and pick him up, or would you like him to be dropped off?”

Steve frowned at that.  “No offence, mam, but what am I going to do with a dead body in my house?”

 “Oh, no, sir,” she replied, “he’s alive.”

\------

Within half an hour, Bucky was delivered to the bakery’s doorstep like a package or bouquet of flowers.  He had a robotic arm now and longer hair, but it was still him.  Sort of. 

There was just the small problem that Bucky was an amnesiac. 

He had managed to survive the fall from the train by crashing into the icy waters the train had been going over, but landed without a scrape, sans the fact that his arm had been ripped off.  He was found by Russians and was trained to become an assassin, just like something out of some movie.  He had been found and shipped back to America six months back to spend time in solitude and hopefully be reverted back to not-assassin mode, and then he was finally identified as the man lost almost four years ago.

Bucky’s guards were none other than Coulson and Fury, who both confessed to belonging to an FBI branch known as ‘SHIELD’.  The two of them hung cameras around the bakery and Steve’s apartment while Bucky and Steve looked each other up and down.  Until they knew that he wasn’t going to be killing again anytime soon, he was to be kept under constant watch while adapting to normal society. 

Once Coulson and Fury bid Steve good luck, the first thing that Steve said was: “Oh my god, it’s really you.”

The first thing that Bucky said was: “I’m starving.”

Steve nodded shakily and led Bucky inside, switched on the bakery light, and served him a slice of apple pie a la mode and a cup of coffee.  Bucky ate in silence while Steve stared at him, and as he neared the edge of his crust, he put his fork down.

“Look, pal, if you’re gonna keep staring at me like I’m some kind of caged animal…”

Steve shook his head quickly and looked down at Bucky’s hands instead.  “No, sorry, you’re just… you were my best friend and I thought you were dead.  It’s kind of a big deal.”

“Well to me, you’re a stranger just watching me eat.  You wanna back off?” Bucky asked, looking up from his plate to Steve.

He leaned against the counter and thought that over a minute.  “Here: I’m Steve Rogers.  We grew up together as best friends, went off to war together, I was a captain.  I draw, I work out, I get drinks with my coworkers, and I bake pies.  See?  Not strangers.”

“And what’s keeping me from killing you here and now?” Bucky asked.

That was a question Steve hadn’t been expecting.  He mulled it over, listening to Bucky scrape his fork across the plate.  “The fact that I’m giving you free housing and food and also because you’re practically gonna be under constant watch.  You could be tossed in a cell in the middle of nowhere before you even learn your own name.”

Bucky shook his head and pushed his cup and plate towards Steve.  “I’m James Barnes.  They told me at the hospital.”

“Nah.  That’s your legal name, sure, but to me, you’re Bucky.”  Bucky scowled at the nickname, but didn’t press it further.  “I live right upstairs,” Steve replied, taking his dishes and dumping them in the sink before motioning for Bucky to follow him up the stairs.  “Top floor.  Clint and Natasha, my coworkers, are below us.  You’ll meet them tomorrow.”

Steve flicked on the apartment light and stepped back so Bucky could enter the apartment.  Steve went to the linen closet and tossed a blanket onto the couch, and then grabbed a pair of sweats from his dresser and handed them over to Bucky. 

“I’ll take the couch.  I generally get up around five or six; I’ll try not to wake you up.”

Bucky shook his head.  “Mr-“

“Steve.”

“Steve,” Bucky corrected, “I’m in a place I’ve never been with a man I’ve never met.  I don’t think you’re gonna have to worry about waking me up anytime soon.  Not tonight, at least.”

The two found themselves on the couch for the rest of the night, an uncomfortable silence between them from Steve’s constant wanting to ask questions but then stopping himself, and Bucky’s mostly lack of interest in Steve and rather on the TV.  A couple of cooking shows later, Bucky finally looked over at Steve.

"So, army, huh?” Bucky asked.  “How’d  we end up there?”

"History,” Steve replied, pressing the mute button.  “We had an obsession with World War II when we were kids.  We read books, watched documentaries, played soldiers, all that kind of stuff.  The obsession just kind of turned into a dream, I guess.  We wanted to be soldiers and save our country, maybe come home to a pretty girl.  We really kinda glorified it; I came home with jack shit and you… well.”

Bucky let out a hum and turned back to the TV for a few minutes before continuing.  “What about me?  What was old Ja- _Bucky_ like?”

Steve wasn’t sure where to begin.  He was a sarcastic asshole who still managed to always know when to say the right things.  He always managed to bring home money without explanation, and while it was suspicious, it bought food and the occasional treat like movie tickets.  He could survive roller coasters while Steve couldn’t.  He was fantastic picking up women, and even the occasional man.  He was funny and snarky and hit his growth spurt properly and was everything Steve wanted to be and more. 

And he was dead and replaced by a stranger in his body.

No, ‘dead’ wasn’t the right word because this was only temporary, right?  He was missing.  Yeah, missing.  He was missing and Steve didn’t know what to do with the new Bucky.  They couldn’t talk about childhood, Steve didn’t want to have an ‘I accidentally killed you, sorry!’ talk anytime soon, they couldn’t discuss books or movies yet.  Hell, could he even read?  No, he could, he had flipped through the TV guide.  So at least he wouldn’t have to teach the man how to read.

Steve realized Bucky was staring at him expectantly, so he opened his mouth and shut it again.  “He... he was a fantastic friend and hero to not just the country, but to me.  I had a big mouth as a kid and got into a lot of trouble with it, and he could pick me out of some shitty situations.  He was smart and loyal and funny and a good guy.”  And as stupid as it was to miss someone that was sitting in front of him, he felt a pang in his chest, wishing that Bucky was actually there as Bucky rather than whoever this was.

“I didn’t like making people beg for their lives, and I didn’t like going home covered in somebody else’s blood and guts, you know,” Bucky said quietly after another few minutes of not acknowledging that Steve had even said anything.  “I was trained to do it, was told that it was all I was good for, but I didn’t enjoy it.  But, I mean, just so you don’t have to worry about sleeping with one eye open forever.  The cameras that they put up here are going to be worthless; even if I did want to shoot you dead, a camera sure as hell wouldn’t stop me.  I could kill you with my thumb if I wanted to.  But I won’t kill you.  You seem like a genuinely good guy; you’re letting me live here even though I _did_ kill people for a living.  That takes guts, pal.”

Steve shook his head, feeling the little bit of fear that he had disappear, and Bucky turned the volume back on the TV.  Bucky didn’t talk for the rest of the night, and Steve didn’t try to make him.

\------

Bucky came down to the bakery with Steve the next morning after a night of thick silence and watching television.  Natasha and Clint both watched Steve and Bucky as they stepped inside, where Steve then headed to the coffee machine to brew a pot while Bucky slid onto a stool at the counter. 

Before Steve could ask if they’d gotten a new shipment in yet, Natasha turned to Clint and said, “Told you!  Hand over the money, Barton,” with a shit-eating grin and hand held out expectantly at him.  Clint groaned in return and pulled a ten dollar bill from his pocket and into her hand, but smiling himself.

Steve poured a cup of coffee and slid it over to Bucky, watching the pairs little display with unease.  “Told him what?”

“Told him that you swung that way.  He said you were straight, I said you’re at least bi.”

“I’m not even going to comment on how disgusting it is that you two placed a bet on my sexuality.  Seriously?  And what makes you think I am?”

Clint and Natasha both gave him a puzzled look, not even a hint of shame in their eyes.

“You just brought a male down from your apartment,” Clint said.

“And you both look like you didn’t sleep all night.”

“And you’re both looking at each other while trying to avoid eye contact.  Sounds like sex to me, Steve.”

Steve rolled his eyes and shook his head, now moving to the other side of the kitchen to start on his first pie crust for the day.  “We didn’t sleep together.  That’s Bucky.”

Natasha and Clint both got silent, the only noise now being Bucky slurping his coffee as Steve looked back and forth between his two coworkers.

“No offence, Steve, but are you sure?” Clint asked slowly.  “I mean, he kind of, you know, died.”

Steve shook his head with a grim smile.  “Apparently he was smart enough not to.  Sort of.  Came back as an assassin with amnesia,” he explained as the pair turned to look at Bucky.  “He’ll be staying with me for a while.  I’m gonna try to stash some pies in the fridge so I can take some time off to show Bucky around the city later.  I’ll take off at two or so, can I trust one of you two close the shop up for me?” As Clint tried to reply, Steve shook his head.  “Let me clarify: can I trust Natasha to close up?”

“Can do, Steve,” Natasha said over Clint mumbling about how “unfair Steve is” and how ‘it was only _one time_ he left it open’ and ‘not _his_ fault they were robbed’.  

“This means I want my ten dollars back, Nat,” Clint said once the chatter had died down, grabbing a cup of coffee for himself.  “No, I get twenty, because I was right!”

“Don’t bother,” Steve replied as Natasha stuck her hand in her pocket.  Everyone raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t continue the conversation as Steve got ready to start his day of baking.

\------

Steve got the afternoon off to give Bucky a tour of the city.  The first part of the tour was meant to be touring their home neighborhood when they were kids, but due to Bucky’s lack of interest and blank stares at everything Steve presented, that plan fell through quickly.  Next came their current neighborhood and all the coffee shops and small boutiques that littered the streets there, which got a little more interest when Steve bought Bucky some new clothes to replace the sweats and white t-shirt that Bucky had been supplied with. 

Steve finally led Bucky in a trek across the city for a walk in Central Park once the clothes had put in the apartment.  They had barely gotten to the park when Steve decided he had enough of not getting anything from Bucky and that instead of making the silence even more awkward by not saying what he wanted, so he’d break it.

“Do you, uh, have any hobbies?” He tried first.

“You don’t get a lot of time to do things for fun when your job’s killing people,” Bucky scoffed.  “Same with when you’re staying in a hospital, off and on in a straightjacket when they don’t know what to do after you have a nightmare and try to attack someone.”

Steve rubbed the back of his own neck.  “What do you-“

“Are you gonna keep trying small talk till we have a big conversation?” Bucky interrupted with a scowl, and Steve nodded sheepishly.

“What’s your earliest memory after waking up?”

“I was in a room, a couple of guys were standing over me asking me if I could hear, realized one of my arms was metal, couldn’t remember if that was new news to me or not.”

“Did the guys treat you well?”

“What are you, my therapist?” Bucky asked, the annoyance showing on his face now.  He sighed and his shoulders slumped before he shrugged.  “I guess.  Fed me enough, got me a cot.  Made me kill people, but I made a living, so that’s alright.”  The conversation paused for a few minutes as they continued walking, Steve not wanting to annoy Bucky more.  “What about you?  How’d you go from soldier to baker in two seconds?”

“More like two years, but after the whole thing with you, I had a plane crash and needed some time alone.  And as much as I thought about going back to the military, I couldn’t do it.  Needed something calm.  Tony Stark was hiring for some bakery, and Ma and I used to bake all the time when I was a little kid, so I found her old recipe and became a baker at Potts’ Pies.”

“Your boss is Tony Stark?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow.  “What’s your salary, a million an hour?”

“How do you know about Tony?”

"I was in a hospital, not a cave,” he replied, and Steve felt a twinge of jealousy at that.  Bucky knew that Tony Stark was super fucking rich, but not a single thing about their childhood.  Stupid, he knew, to be jealous over that, but he was and it was dumb.

The small talk slowly grew into longer conversations as their walk went on, and that walk turned into just sitting on a bench, and they didn’t go home until the sun started to go down.

\------

That night, Steve woke up from the couch to a yell from his room.  Steve jumped up and grabbed the first thing he saw, a pot lid from the kitchen, to use as a shield as if it would help.  He ran the short distance there, practically tripping over his own feet in the process, and flung open the door.  He was greeted with the sight of Bucky shaking and sweating in the middle of his bed; the fearless and tough soldier and assassin he had re-met just the night before now looking like a scared little kid.

“You okay?” Steve asked as he sat down next to Bucky, pot lid clattering, forgotten, on the ground, hesitating before pulling Bucky into his arms.

Bucky took deep, shuddering breaths as he pressed closer into Steve, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling Steve’s permanent scent of flour and cinnamon.  “Nightmare.  Like a… a flashback, maybe? I just drown in ice and water and then I wake up.”  Which could have been avoided if Steve had just taken someone like Jim or Dum-Dum to fight by him instead.  But Steve had been stupid and not paid attention and couldn’t get to Bucky on time. 

Steve had been there himself and still had his own frequent nightmares, all of them revolving around the war and, surprise, Bucky’s death.  And while his life hadn’t been as traumatic as Bucky’s, he still understood.  He released Bucky and gently pushed on his chest until Bucky fell back on his pillow.   Steve shuffled into the covers and laid next to him, holding him tight with their foreheads touching. 

After the two of them tangling arms and bumping legs, Steve finally nudged Bucky again until he rolled over, whereupon he spooned Bucky and held him tight.

“Do you mind?” Steve asked as Bucky tensed, tensing himself until he felt Bucky relax.

"No,” Bucky replied slowly.  After a few minutes of the two of them being very aware of the other man, he added, “Are there alternatives for comforting me?”

“I could teach you how to bake,” Steve said, scooting away with a sigh of relief and flopping on his back.  “That’s what I do when I’m low.  Maybe you could learn to make, like, cakes or something.  Or cannoli, or maybe we could find an old ice cream maker at some point. But for tonight, get dressed and I can start you on making pie.” 

He got up and went to the kitchen, and Bucky padded out after him.  Steve rummaged in the junk drawer and tossed him a cheesy ‘Kiss Me, I’m American’ apron that the gang had gotten him for a gag gift his last birthday.  “Put on that apron and follow me.”

The pair got ready and made their way downstairs, where the two worked until the sun came up. Steve made the crust and filling while Bucky pressed the dough and filled up the pie plates and kept watch on the oven.  And as soon as Clint and Natasha showed up, Steve asked for the morning off, and then Bucky and Steve were back in their apartment in their bed, Steve spooning Bucky more comfortably this time and the both of them sleeping nightmare-free.

\------

As it grew nearer to Christmas, Steve realized that they were completely unprepared.  After spending the past few Christmases either in Natasha and Clint’s apartment to watch cheesy Christmas movies or alone, it had slipped his mind that he actually had someone to really celebrate with.  He pulled Natasha out of the bakery early on the twentieth to grab some gifts and a tree. 

As expected of New York City near Christmas, the streets were jam packed.  Tourists had shopping bags, businessmen cursed and fought their way around the tourists to get to some meeting they were late to, the occasional guy dressed as Santa passed out candy canes to children as they passed, and everyone in the chilly city, religious or not, all seemed to be celebrating the holiday together.

First came gift shopping.  Steve got Bucky a new winter coat (he had been using one of Steve’s leather jackets, which didn’t give as much insulation as needed in the New York City winter) and Natasha a new scarf, she got Steve a new sketchbook (leather bound, Ingres so he could attempt charcoal drawings, gorgeous, and easily one of the nicest sketchbooks Steve owned considering that he usually just grabbed the same plain one from the dollar store), and they split the cost of getting Clint new arrows (he used the roof often to practice archery, only that came with the downside of most the arrows falling through the small crack between their building and the next).

Once that had all been stashed in Steve’s apartment, they were back out the door.  They found the first tree lot after nearly an hour of pushing and shoving through crowds.  After grabbing the first tree they saw and dragging it back to the apartment, they went out for one last trip. 

“So we bought a tree when we don’t have ornaments or lights,” Natasha clarified, and Steve grinned sheepishly as they browsed the drug store for any pack of ornaments they could find.

“I wanna celebrate Christmas right this year.”

“Because of Bucky?”

“It’s technically his first Christmas, and I know that the three of you aren’t religious, but we may as well celebrate just a little bit, don’t you think?”  He asked, ducked into the back of a bottom shelf, looking for any tree lights.  “Better than watching cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies for seven hours.”

“We’re going to end up doing that anyway,” she pointed out with a smile, “but we’ll at least be able to watch them in the pathetic glow of our one strand of lights.”

 “Two strands!” Steve announced, hitting his head on the upper shelf as he stood, but grinning anyway.

As expected for a shop five days before Christmas there wasn’t a single ornament in sight.  To make up for it, Steve grabbed popcorn and a couple of bags of mini marshmallows, ignoring Natasha’s huffs about how it would have been better and less pathetic to just use the tree for fire fuel.  Natasha didn’t question anything until they had gotten back, worked until closing, and then went up to Natasha’s apartment to decorate the tree, where she finally asked, “What the hell are you doing?”

Steve shoved the popcorn bag in the microwave with a hopeful grin plastered on his face.  He dug around in a drawer to pull out a needle and thread, which he handed to her.  “String the popcorn together and we’ll hang that on the tree.  Same with the marshmallows.  I’ll hang the lights.”

The two worked to make the tree look nicer, complete with Natasha winding up toilet paper and draping it over the tree while Clint and Bucky watched them with amused and sympathetic expressions.  They used paper sacks and plastic bags as gift bags, and even though Clint’s arrows poked from the top of his sack and Natasha and Steve already knew what they had gotten each other, it was oddly nice.

It wasn’t until Steve perched an old Burger King crown (left from a recent November late night bar adventure that left the night in a haze) on top that Clint and Bucky finally burst into laughter.

\------

The Saturday before Christmas was champagne night.  Same deal as drinking-and-pie night, but with more of a festive spirit (and really just an excuse for Steve, Clint, and Natasha to drink on the job, which was a nice bonus).  This was Bucky’s first time meeting Tony as well, and their only conversation of the night went something like:

“Mr. Stark, I’m Bucky.”

“Bucky?  You’re Steve’s dead boyfriend, right?”

“No sir, I’m very much alive.”

That had ended their conversation.  The night had continued going well and was incredibly busy as usual until the Howling Commandos showed up, and then there was a loud eruption of cheers from the men which led to Bucky being pulled away from the only four people he really knew in this city, being those behind the counter, and into a booth with a group of loud men he had never met, or remembered meeting at least.

“So you don’t remember me, then?” Timothy had asked for the fourth time that night, clutching his fifth drink, by the time Steve showed up to help Bucky out.

And, also for the fourth time that night, Bucky replied very patiently with, “I don’t remember anything.”

“Not even me?” Timothy asked again, looking like it was his first time hearing it, and Bucky shook his head.

“How’d a guy like ya ev’n end up dyin’?  Yer a smart Bucky, you could’ve stayed on the train,” Jim slurred, leaning onto Bucky.

“Train?” Bucky asked, brow furrowed.  “I don’t-“

“Maybe you guys should show up on a day when we don’t drink.  You know, to actually catch up instead of asking Bucky the same questions over and over,” Steve interrupted.  “You guys better let me call you a cab.” This created enough of a distraction for the men so Bucky could wish them a goodnight and happy holidays before retreating to the apartment, where Steve joined him an hour later after closing the shop up.

“So, that’s the Howling Commandos.  They’re really great guys when they’re not drunk, I swear,” Steve insisted as he sat on the couch next to Bucky, muting the television.

“And we fought together?” Bucky asked.

“We were all like brothers.  You and I went way back, and I went on a mission to release some prisoner soldiers, where I found you again and they just happened to stick with us.  They were great fighters and still are great friends, even if they do only show up for the cheap alcohol and good pie.”

“A big mission, huh?” Bucky asked, leaning back into the couch.  “And all to save a handful of soldiers?  No wonder you were a captain.  God, you’re like Captain fucking America or some shit.”

“Is that my superhero name?  Is that what I am now?  If I’m that, you’re…”  Steve paused to think, his own slightly drunk brain trying to think.  “You’re my sidekick.  Winter Soldier.  ‘Cause it’s winter, and you were a soldier.”

“No Winter Assassin?  What, are you trying to block out the fact that I killed people for a living?” Bucky joked dryly, and just like that, cold, awkward air filled the apartment until they went to sleep.

\------

The two days before the bakery closed on the twenty-fourth were the busiest days of the year for the bakery.  People wanted pies and cookies left and right, which meant for early mornings and late nights. 

Everyone but Bucky and Steve left early on the twenty-fourth, saying they’d clean and close up for everyone else as a Christmas gift.  Although the dishwasher was full, there were still things to be washed.  The pair washed and dried in silence before Bucky suddenly smashed a mug on the ground with a shout, shattering it.

In shock, Steve dropped the pie tin he was washing back into the sink before he spun to look at Bucky. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I don’t fucking get it!” Bucky cried.  “Out of all the people on Earth, why’d this have to happen to me?  Why’d I have to be the one to lose my memory?  Why am I the one that’s working in a goddamn bakery with a stranger and people that won’t stop asking me if I know them?  Why _me_?  Tell me, Steve, did I ever do anything to the universe before all this shit happened that I should apologize for?  Did I kill a cat or something?  Did I mug an old woman?  Just please, Steve, tell me what the fuck I did!”

Steve wiped his soapy hands on his apron before pulling Bucky tight like he’d gotten used to doing every night, letting Bucky take deep, shuddering breaths against him.  And this time, Bucky held him back, one arm soft and warm and the metal one hard and cold. 

It didn’t take long before Steve felt a damp patch start on his shoulder, making this the third time Steve had ever seen Bucky cry; the first time had been when he broke his leg when he was eight, and the second was when Steve had been in a particularly nasty fist-fight.  Steve pressed his lips into Bucky’s long hair and rubbed his back until Bucky pulled away, and Steve finished up the dishes while Bucky sat in a ball on the floor. 

When the kitchen was clean and Bucky was calm enough to breathe properly, Steve took his hand to pull him up and didn’t let go as the pair walked up the stairs and into the apartment.  They both changed into their sweats and immediately crawled in bed, Bucky’s back to Steve’s front as they had slowly made their normal sleeping positions.

Steve laid there for a while, and when he was nearly certain Bucky was asleep, he heard a small voice say, “I want to die.”

“Oh, Bucky…” Steve breathed, squeezing his eyes shut.  Bucky was fully aware of what he was saying, and while he had known from the start it was a possibility Bucky would feel like this eventually, it didn’t make it hurt any less to hear. 

“I don’t remember who I am and I don’t know why I should be here.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to have you, Steve, but there’s so much of me missing and I don’t know if I’ll ever be back and I don’t know anything about me besides your occasional little history lesson on me and I don’t want this.  If I’m not attached to this life, why stay?”

“You’ve only been a good, safe place with someone that loves you for, what, a week?  More or less?  Just please, Bucky, just hang on for as long as you can,” Steve pleaded.  “I need you.”

“Do you know what it feels like to want to disappear?” Bucky asked.

Steve swallowed and nodded even though Bucky couldn’t see him.  “I lost my best friend.  I didn’t leave my apartment for what feels like forever, wanted to die every single minute of every single day but stopped myself every single time or at least got enough sense to call for help, finally got a job in a bakery and started to feel something positive again, and then my friend showed up again.  Just please, Bucky, please be patient.  Things’ll change eventually and your life’ll get better.”

“I don’t wanna be patient,” Bucky replied, rolling over so he was facing Steve in the dark.  “I want to be myself again now, but I can’t.  I try to remember, I really do, but neither pictures or stories or places or you can remind me of anything, and it’s just so _frustrating_.  You act so patient, but even you will give up on me at some point if I don’t come back.  Because that’s the reason you’re staying with me, right?  In hopes of getting your best friend back?”

“I’m staying with you because I’ll care about you no matter who you are or what you do.  You could be a killing machine and I’d still love you as much as I did before all this happened.”

“Why?”

“Because I need you.  We can get through this together, just please stay with me,” he begged, and reluctantly, Bucky agreed.

\------

Steve awoke on Christmas morning with Bucky draped across his chest, snoring gently and huddling close for warmth.  Steve’s first thought was ‘oh my God, he’s beautiful’, followed by ‘no.  No, I didn’t think that, no, stop’, and finally ‘fuuuuuuuuuuuck’ as Bucky woke up, gave Steve a sleepy smile, and rolled off of him.

“Merry Christmas,” Bucky sighed, stretching.

“Merry Christmas,” Steve replied, immediately missing Bucky’s warmth.  They laid side by side for a bit, listening to each other’s breathing, until Steve felt an unfamiliar metal hand intertwine with his own, smooth metal fingers rubbing against callused ones.  It was both intimate and platonic, comforting and safe.

“What was our last Christmas together like?” Bucky asked after a while, pulling the blanket up to his chin.

“Cold,” Steve replied.  “Our apartment didn’t have heating.  I got you some new boots and you got me a… a little stereo, maybe?  We didn’t have ornaments on our tree back then, either, not that it was much of a tree.  We listened to the radio, ate candy, sat by the fireplace,” Steve paused to think for a minute before his face broke out into a grin, “and you made both of us wear stupid Santa hats all day.”

"Aw, don’t pretend you didn’t like it,” Bucky teased, and for just a minute, it felt like Bucky was back.  They laid there for another minute before Steve pulled his hand out of Bucky’s and sat up, pulling on socks before heading for the bedroom door, Bucky trailing behind them.

The rest of the morning passed quickly.  They were both halfway through their second cups of coffee when Natasha came bursting in, looking absolutely gorgeous in a dress and red lipstick compared to Steve and Bucky with their bedhead and pajamas.  They finished their coffee, Natasha waiting impatiently by the door, before following her downstairs. 

Canned cinnamon rolls were breakfast, which got a snort from everyone considering that they were bakers living above a bakery, but it was fine.  They opened gifts first, Steve and Natasha both giving looks of mock-surprise at each other’s presents, followed by teasing each other with ‘I had no idea!’ and ‘I couldn’t have picked it out better myself!’.  Next came the movie marathon, just like Natasha had said they’d end up doing.

It started with the Charlie Brown Christmas special, which led to A Christmas Story, then the first two Home Alone movies (everyone but Clint fell asleep during the third one), and finally, an assortment of cheesy Hallmark holiday romances.  All this ended with their fancy Christmas dinner of macaroni and cheese, chicken tenders, and beer, which was a dinner meant for both kings and eight year old boys (if the eight year old boys happened to get their hands on beer).  Neither Bucky nor Steve mentioned the conversation from the night before, and though it hung in the air, they both made a silent agreement to try and enjoy the holiday.

As it hit midnight, Bucky said goodnight to Clint and Natasha, and Steve helped clean up before doing the same and following Bucky upstairs.  He returned to find Bucky flipping through a photo album; the album had started with photos of them as teenagers and followed them until they went off to war, proving that Steve had, at one point, been tiny and barely half the size he was now.  Steve knew that the last photo of them was the pair standing tall in their military uniforms, Steve now a head taller than Bucky and the two of them grinning like it was the best day of their lives.

“God, you were a pipsqueak,” Bucky tried to say in an amusing tone, though his voice fell flat.  “When’d I die?” He asked, not looking up from the final picture, metal fist clenched.

“January 3rd,” Steve replied, kicking off his shoes.  He went to the kitchen and cracked open a bottle of champagne, drinking it straight form the bottle as he sat down to hand it over to Bucky. And so they drank side by side in the dark living room, long past Christmas was over and into the morning.

\------

The bakery opened again on the twenty-seventh, where it stayed open until the thirtieth again.  On New Year’s Eve, the Potts’ Pies crew all bundled up and made it to Times Square to watch the ball drop. 

“I swear this whole city is a bag of cats,” Bruce shouted over the loud crowd and deafening music as the five worked their way through the crowd, Bucky holding onto the hem of Steve’s coat like a child.

“Not as crazy as when Thor’s fucking brother broke into the bakery and destroyed the place last spring,” Natasha countered.  “Seriously, Thor comes, what, once a week?  Why’d it have to be our bakery he destroyed?”

“It worked out fine.  We took him down and he’s still in jail,” Steve replied. 

“And hey, at least Stark paid for a full remodeling of the place.  I got a fancy sink!  Nothing says lame like busboy upgrades,” Clint said, and then there was a loud cheer over something happening that nobody could actually see, and the group was separated. 

“Bucky?  You still with me?” Steve shouted, and then there were lips to his ear, saying, “Yeah.  Can we stop here before we get pulled apart?”

Steve stopped and Bucky was pressed against Steve’s side, squished there tightly as more and more people packed around them.

“This sure was some idea you had, Steve,” Bucky said into his ear again, standing on his toes to reach him.  “Why not go out and see something around a shitload of people when we could see it on the apartment’s TV screen instead?”

“Aw, shut it, Barnes,” Steve replied, rolling his eyes.  “Don’t listen to Clint’s idea; you can’t see anything on the TV, anyway.”

The two stayed smushed like that, Steve very aware of Bucky’s body against him, as it went deeper into the night, although the city lights could’ve tricked you into thinking it was day. 

The deafening roar of people around them grew louder and louder as the time ticked down, and then the ball was down and fireworks were going off and Steve felt a mittened hand slip into his own and lips were against his ear saying, “Happy New Year, Steve.”

\------

The next two days passed quickly as the bakery opened again, and then it was the 3rd, Bucky’s death anniversary.  That day was spent with Bucky never leaving Steve’s sight, though he rarely did anyway, and Steve fighting to push away the blanket of depression that was trying to attack him then.  A couple of more days hit, and then on the seventh, a blizzard hit.

Steve didn’t like snow.  He didn’t like cold, he didn’t like ice, and he especially didn’t like snow.  It made him feel like he was drowning in ice, and he usually waited out blizzards under the covers of his bed, staying warm and trying to block out anything relating to the storm.

Bucky didn’t particularly mind snow (it hadn’t done anything too bad to him that he knew of, so surely it was alright), but he did mind seeing Steve sulk.  He spent the first half of the day going back and forth between spooning up against Steve or watching TV and giving Steve space.  Eventually, though, he went into the room and dropped a sketchpad and pencil on Steve’s lap.

“Draw,” Bucky demanded, and Steve stuck his grumpy head out from the blankets, hair sticking in every direction.  He sighed and motioned for Bucky to sit in front of him, and once he did, Steve began drawing.

“Don’t move,” Steve hissed as Bucky scooted to try and see what Steve was drawing, and Bucky sat back down.  “Do your stupid Cheshire cat smile thing you do again- yeah, like that, good,” Steve mumbled.  The only noise in the room for a while after that was the sound of pencil on paper and the occasional “Bucky, I said sit still.” 

After what felt like ages of waiting for Bucky, Steve finally shoved the sketchbook at him, watching as Bucky’s face lit up at the drawing of himself.  Bucky took the pen from him and set the sketchbook on the bedside table, sliding into the covers next to Steve, and began tracing the outline of Steve’s body with a pen, sliding it up and down his arms and neck, between his fingers, and briefly along his jaw before Steve swatted him away.

“This is gonna take forever to wash off,” Steve mumbled as Bucky carefully outlined Steve’s hand, and Bucky shushed him.

“Sorry I’m not a Picasso like you,” Bucky replied, outlining each of the lifelines on Steve’s palm.  “I wanted to draw you, thought I might as well return the favor, but I’m sure as hell not even gonna bother drawing if I can barely do a stick figure.”

“You ass,” Steve said with amusement in his tone once Bucky tossed the pen onto the floor, and Bucky pulled the covers up to their chin so they could wait out the storm together.

\------

The bakery was still closed the next day due to the two feet of snow on the ground, and after a flashback swallowing Steve whole, depression came crashing back down on him.  Time passed slower than usual and Steve seldom left the bed, wanting nothing more than to get up and be happy but also wanting nothing more than to just sleep.  More importantly, right now, he wanted his Bucky back.  This Bucky was fine and they were warming up to each other more and more ever since Bucky had the nightmare, but it wasn’t his Bucky. 

Steve’s limbs felt heavy as he got up to piss, and when he came out, Bucky was sitting on the bed with a bowl of soup.

“You haven’t eaten yet, so I heated up a can of soup.  You sick or something?” Bucky asked, passing the bowl to Steve once he got into bed.   Steve put on the nightstand, the thought of food making him want to puke, and Bucky sighed.  “I’m not a mind reader, alright?”

“Do you remember what you said the other night?” Steve asked quietly.

“What part?”

“Where you said you wanted to die.”

“Oh.  That how you feel now?” Steve nodded, and Bucky got under the covers with him.

“Can you do somethin’ for me?” Steve asked, and once Bucky said sure, Steve clenched his fists and hoped his voice wouldn’t waver. “Shoot me.  If you truly don’t know me, then just do it.”

Bucky curled up around Steve silently as Steve scrubbed his own face, and Steve almost wanted to push Bucky away until Bucky came back remembering everything since the day he was born.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Bucky murmured.  “We both are, alright?  I’ll remember eventually, and then we’ll-“

“You don’t get it!” Steve wailed.  “I watched you die!  I tried to kill myself, Bucky!  Multiple times!  And now you’re right fucking here and I thought everything would go back to normal and I was okay for a while, I’ve been getting better slowly in general, and now it kinda feels like I’ve been tossed back to square one!” Steve let out a breathy heave as he clamped a hand over his mouth, getting hysterical as he felt a panic attack creep up on him.  “I was fine for so long!  Then it snowed yesterday and that tossed everything I’ve been working towards.  I felt shit yesterday, feel worse now, and I can’t do it, Bucky.  I haven’t felt this bad in ages and…” Bucky tugged on Steve’s arm to make him roll so he was facing Bucky’s chest, and he held him close. 

“You listen here, Steve:  Everything is going to be absolutely fucking fine, alright?  You’re going to get better.  You’re not back to square one, you just hit a rough patch, and we’ll get through this.  It may take days or weeks, but we’ll get through this.  Calm down.”

There was silence after that as Bucky held Steve and Steve tried to concentrate on Bucky’s smell rather than the bad thoughts.  He had a new slew of thoughts, all of them yelling at himself about being weak and worthless and a burden to Bucky, but Bucky was right.  They’d get through it.  Together.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in April 2013, and I think I've finally combed through it enough times that I'm actually okay with it.  
> Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you spotted any typos or anything ^^  
> Title from [Yr Mnhtn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8P_dlHqzhq0) by Driftless Pony Club


	2. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The snow melts to spring, and they're okay.

The snow melted into spring, Valentine’s Day happening along the way, complete at the bakery with red velvet heart-shaped cookies and Bucky’s own creation, heart shaped whoopee pies.  Bucky was now an official employee at the restaurant, his specialty being cupcakes.  Steve had stayed low for a couple of weeks, mood occasionally getting better before plummeting back down.  Those who weren’t employees wouldn’t have known; all that the city cared about was that the pies kept being made, and after Bucky literally pulling him downstairs the morning after his breakdown, Steve went back to therapeutic pie making. On good days when Steve wasn’t horrible and the sun was shining, Bucky and Steve had added “6am jog” to their morning routine as well, followed by showers and then baking until the shop closed, though their jogs had more often than not turned into feeding ducks and pigeons at Central Park and buying whatever fresh produce they could. It was warm out now as well, and sweaters and hats turned into t-shirts, and Steve welcomed the warmth with open arms.

Bucky and Steve had begun cooking more in their apartment as well, moving on from order in and boxed foods to actually healthy foods.  This had been at the suggestion of Bucky after he’d teased Steve about the fact that not all of them were fortunate enough to look like gods all the time (Steve thought otherwise of Bucky but didn’t say anything).

Bucky had his own cell phone now as well and had even gone down to the corner store to get milk without Steve once and made it back to the apartment safely, which made Steve feel  both proud and jealous that Bucky didn’t need him to go some places anymore.

The bakery was now busy as ever; in addition to the new cupcakes and Bruce constantly trying to perfect his cookies, the pies were now stocked with fresh fruit due to the warmth, and they were now serving iced coffee. 

In their spare time, Bucky had managed to convince the rest of those living in the building to chip money towards a garden on the roof.  It’d save on cost of fruit pie money, though they would still need to buy more fruit then they’d grow, but it’d still be nice and they wouldn’t have to eat pies made purely of berries grown thousands of miles away.

The rest of the gang (sans Steve) had decided that they’d chip in only if they didn’t have to help build, and Bucky agreed.  Bucky and Steve had built a little garden and filled it with mulch, and by the time Bucky’s shirt was sticking to him with sweat, Steve was cursing that he had ever agreed to help. 

So, he may have grown a little more attracted to Bucky since the thought Christmas morning.  Just a little more.  Or a lot more.  He’d tried not to fall for him, but the more he had thought about it, the harder he fell.  And he knew that he’d maybe come clean and tell Bucky eventually (unless it was just puppy love and wore off, and god did he kind of hope it was), but not yet.  For now, he was content pining after the man that was surprisingly attractive covered in sweat and dirt and was planting a strawberry plant, smiling over at Steve as he caught him watching.

When Bucky self-consciously tensed and asked Steve what the hell he was looking at, Steve replied with ‘nothing’ and got back to planting his own mint plant, listening to Bucky babble away happily about plants.

Later that day, Steve most certainly did _not_ jack off in the shower thinking about the clothes sticking to every inch of Bucky’s body (which didn’t leave much to the imagination), or his stupid laugh, or dumb hair, or anything dumb like that, because that’d be dumb, and Steve Rogers was sure as hell not going to fall in love with him or even so much as look at him or anything.  That would be dumb, and he wouldn’t even develop a small crush at all, so why would he jack off to him?

When Bucky asked what took Steve so long in the shower, Steve just shrugged and said the water felt nice.

\------

Steve liked to smoke.  He didn’t do it often and would try to cover it up when he did, but sometimes when Bucky was in the shower or running to the store, he’d sit on the fire escape and smoke.  Because, to be honest, he was ashamed that he smoked.  Not ashamed enough to stop, but ashamed enough to not tell anyone.  It was relaxing and killing him slowly, which he didn’t mind. 

On this day in particular, he was leaning against the fire escape’s railing while Bucky was out to pick up eggs.   It was warm and sunny but not overly so.  He assumed he had another twenty minutes to finish smoking and wash every trace of smoke off of him, until Bucky stuck his head about the escape’s window.

“You shouldn’t be doing that if you have asthma,” Bucky said, breaking the long silence as the two stared at each other.  “Hell, you shouldn’t be doing that in general.”

Steve dropped the cigarette and smashed it with the heel of his foot, guiltily grabbing the pack of other cigarettes from the railing and shoving them into his pocket.  “I thought you were getting eggs.”

“I thought you didn’t smoke,” Bucky replied with a raised eyebrow.  “I came back because I forgot to water our plants and figured we could wait another hour for eggs.  There was no reason to hide it from me, you know.  I wouldn’t have-“

 “You just said I shouldn’t if I have asthma,” Steve interrupted.  “I never told you that I have asthma.  Well, had asthma.”

“You-“ Bucky stopped and blinked.  He sat on the windowsill, thinking this over.  “Oh.”

 “Do you remember anything else?”

Bucky considered this before shaking his head.  “Not that I know of.”  The two stared silently at each other for another long minute before Bucky broke out into a goofy grin.  “Of all the things to remember, it’s that you had asthma.  I can’t remember a first kiss or pet, just that you have difficulty breathing on occasion.”

“Hey, this is a start,” Steve said.  “You’ll remember everything in no time, from seeing a Disney movie in theaters to the getting our first place to fighting in the war.”

“And somehow, all that matters is that you had asthma,” Bucky added, grinning.

“I never thought I’d be so happy to have asthma before,” Steve replied, following Bucky to the roof to grow plants and openly smoke.

\------

Bucky picked up on small things over time, but he still didn’t remember everything.  He remembered that Steve used to like sugar in his coffee, but not anything about the orphanage.  He remembered that his own old favorite book used to be To Kill a Mockingbird (which he then proceeded to read four times before sadly announcing to Steve that he didn’t like it at all anymore), but not that he used to practically live at the library.  He remembered that Steve hurled at Coney Island, but not _Steve_.

Things were okay, though.  Bucky’s garden was somewhat-successful, though they still had to buy the majority of their fruit, and Steve didn’t smoke as much due to Bucky’s disapproving looks (though when he did, he didn’t have to wait until Bucky was gone).  

They decided one day to bake ahead in order to spend a day at Coney Island after Bucky convinced Steve it could “jog some memories” and definitely not because they wanted to skip work to go on some rides. 

“What was the ride you threw up on again?” Bucky asked as soon as they had stepped into the park.

Steve sighed and pointed towards the Cyclone, groaning as Bucky took his hand and pulled him across the park to it.

“So you want me to throw up again?” Steve asked as their waited to get on, and Bucky shoved his arm.

“You’ll be fine,” he insisted.

The two looked around the park as they stood, both noticing the large amounts of toys and balloons relating to Iron Man, the comic about Tony Stark.  Someone somewhere had turned Tony’s life into a superhero, which got him popular with children and adults alike.  Some said he did this to distract from the fact that he had stopped manufacturing machines, while others said it was just because he loved to see his face everywhere. 

“Make a comic about us,” Bucky demanded after a while of looking and waiting. 

“About what?” Steve asked.  “The baker and his soldier?  Because people would love to read about that.”

Bucky shook his head.  “No, about… I dunno, us.  Set it in a different time period, maybe.  Include the rest of the gang, and your character can wear a tight spandex suit.” Steve sputtered at that, but Bucky kept going.  “We could sell copies of it in the bakery or just keep our own copies on the shelf, whatever you want.  You could be the first gay superhero.”

“First off, I’m not gay, I’m bi,” Steve explained.  “Second, Northstar’s got dibs on first gay superhero, and I’m pretty sure Stark’s got claim on bi.”

They were strapped onto the ride before Bucky could reply, and while Steve didn’t throw up on the ride this time, he did come pretty damn close.  The two went on rides and ate all the food they could for the rest of the day, and as soon as they were back in bed at home, Bucky shoved the sketchpad at Steve again.

"So I was thinkin’ you could wear red white and blue.  ‘Cause, you know, America.  You make apple pie for a living, for God’s sake.”

“Wear what when?” Steve asked, looking down at the sketchbook like it was a snake.  “I’ve got a better idea: we do this in the morning after we’ve slept for ages and gone to work.”

Bucky ignored him.  “And that thing you called me a couple months back, Winter Soldier, I like that.  Call me that.”

“Goodnight, Bucky,” was all Steve said as he turned out the light.

Bucky awoke the next morning to a sketch of Steve in the patriotic spandex suit and Bucky in a nice pea coat, mask, and shorts over tights, metal hand clasped with a gloved one.

\------

Although they had slowed down for both of them, both Bucky and Steve still got the occasional nightmare.  Both of their nightmares usually ended with holding each other for as long as it took to convince the other that they were safe and alive, and then they would either bake all morning or watch television until they passed back out on the couch. 

 Steve awoke one morning to Bucky tossing and turning as he often did with nightmares, and as soon as Steve went to touch Bucky to wake him up, Steve found himself pinned to the bed, Bucky panting above him and a fist crashing down onto his jaw.  A knee was shoved onto his balls, and finally, Bucky’s nails gouged into Steve’s biceps, causing him to bleed.

After deciding that Bucky wasn’t going to come-to anytime soon, Steve socked Bucky in the jaw, and Bucky’s eyes went from hard and murderous to scared and confused in just a couple of seconds.  Bucky let out a breathy ‘oh my god’ as he collapsed onto Steve before quickly scrambling off of him. 

“Fuck!  I’m so sorry, Steve!  I thought that you were- I was dreaming that I should- Thank god you’re- Are you alright?”

Steve put a hand over his scrapes, and though blood lined his hand when he pulled it away, he nodded.  “I’m fine,” he replied.  “What was that all about?”

“I was killing someone.  Some poor kid begging for their life, and I shot them dead.  I didn’t know any better!  I was told to kill him!  And then I was fighting someone else and I didn’t have a gun and we – you were there- we were on like a train, I think?  And then it was back to drowning.”  Steve remained silent, realizing it was time to tell Bucky.  “I didn’t know where I was, but I knew who I was in the dream.  I felt like I knew everything about my life in the dream, you know?  There was no empty hole in my brain wondering where I was born or when my birthday was.”

“You were born in Indiana and you were born on April twenty-fifth.  So your birthday’s only a week and a couple of days away,” Steve replied, as if that was the top of their priorities.  He motioned for Bucky to get out of bed and follow him.  They went to their kitchen and Steve rinsed off his arm and held a paper towel to it while the bleeding slowed while Bucky apologized again and again.

Steve sat on the countertop, taking in a deep breath.  “You didn’t drown.  I mean, you did, but you didn’t.  You and me and the Howling Commandos needed to jump onto a train.  Dangerous work, but doable.  It was my mission, and I made you work up front with me.  A hole got blasted in the train’s side, you fell out.” He stopped to dampen the paper towel to wipe the last of the blood off.  “You grabbed onto a pipe and I tried to grab you, I swear on my life that I tried the best I could, but I wasn’t fast enough and was holding my body too close to the train because I didn’t want to die.  Then, well, you know the rest.  I killed you, Buck, and I’m so sorry.  I could’ve made someone else go with me and we could still be together with our memories intact, but I didn’t because I was selfish and stupid and wanted to fight alongside my best friend.”

Neither one could look at each other.  Steve held his breath and the air grew tense.  “Did you mean it?” Bucky asked after a few minutes of processing the information.

"What?”

“Did you mean to kill me?” He asked again, finally looking up to meet Steve’s eye.

“Of course not!” Steve exclaimed, eyes wide.  “Why the hell would I have-“

“Then I forgive you and you should stop beating yourself up about it,” Bucky replied with a shrug.

Steve hopped off his spot on the counter and grabbed Bucky’s elbow, frowning.  “I don’t think you understand.  I killed you, Bucky.”

“You didn’t mean to, did you?  I’m sure that your Bucky would’ve wanted to fight alongside you anyway.  Both of me forgive you, so there’s nothing to worry about,” he said, pulling his arm away from Steve and starting down the stairs to the bakery so they could make food until the sun came up.

\------

Bucky celebrated his twenty-seventh birthday a week and four days after Steve told him the truth.  The two of them found a small diner not far from the bakery to eat and they both got burgers and coffee.

“What was my first birthday with you?” Bucky asked around a mouthful of his food.

Steve thought about that for a minute before replying, “We were at the orphanage when you turned, what, nine?  Ten?  We saw a movie together – I think it was some Disney one?  I bought you popcorn but had to borrow money from you.  I don’t think I ever paid you back, now that I’m thinking about it.”  He pulled his wallet out and slid a five dollar bill across the table to Bucky, and Bucky snorted and slid it back. 

“I think I can forgive you for not buying me popcorn.  Hell, with all you’ve done for me, I should be buying you ten buckets of popcorn,” Bucky teased.

“C’mon, I killed you, the least I can do is-“

“Steve Rogers, you most certainly did _not_ kill me,” Bucky announced, getting the two of them looks from others in the restaurant.  “Unless you woke up that morning with the full intention to shove me off that moving train and laugh as I fell, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t, I think you can stop blaming yourself for me falling off of a train.  Now eat your goddamn burger and stop blaming yourself for something we don’t have to worry about anymore; I’m here now, and dwelling on the past is can’t change anything, so stop worrying about it.”

“But I could have stopped it.  Hell, I could have at least jumped after you instead of clinging to the side of the train like a scared kid.  That wouldn’t have solved anything back then and both of us wouldn’t know anything about each other, but at least I wouldn’t feel guilty every time you ask me about an old birthday or what you used to like to read.”

Bucky sighed.  “The thing is, Steve, that I don’t give a single shit.  Even if you did intentionally push me off the train, sure, I’d be pissed, but right now you’re taking time out of your life to make sure that I’m doing well and making me know that I’m loved, memory and arm or not.  You fuss over me and fucking spoon me when I have nightmares, you taught me how to bake, you let me put a garden on the roof, you’re absolutely fine.  You could’ve done half that and I would have been perfectly peachy.  You could have just given me a couple of newspapers and made me sleep in the corner like a dog, but you didn’t, and I don’t care what you did to me in the past, I’m here now and forever grateful to have you.  I’ll make a deal with you:  You don’t hate me for being an assassin, I won’t hate you for doing a mission with me that I presumably agreed to.  Do we have a deal?”

“No- I mean, yes, but you’re just gonna give up like that?” Steve asked.  “No punching me in the face or anything for what happened?”

“I couldn’t care less.  You’re my best friend, and you always have been.  Now, eat your burger.”

They went back to the bakery for dessert and were halfway through their celebratory apple pie when Bruce pulled a crumpled napkin from his pocket and handed it over to Bucky.  “It’s from Tony,” he explained as Bucky read it, which was a note that just read ‘IOU an arm – Tony Stark’. 

Steve’s presents came last, as they were back in their apartment later.  The first box was a completed copy of a Captain America and Winter Soldier comic book, 20 pages all drawn by Steve.  The second box contained a full suit, and Bucky looked quizzically up at Steve.

“Stark invites us to his fancy rich people banquets sometimes,” he explained.  “Well, we cater for him.  Same difference.  We’re gonna have to go at some point, and don’t make the same mistake I did the first time by showing up in a t-shirt.”

Bucky then left to try the suit on, and when he came back, Steve’s mouth may have gone a little bit dry.

“Jacket’s too big and the pants are a little snug in the crotch, but the shirt and tie are fine,” Bucky said, pulling the red tie off from around his neck.  “Maybe we could see about returning these and getting different sizes?”

“Gee, what a great present from me, huh?” Steve mumbled.  “Happy birthday, Bucky.”

Bucky grinned and pulled off his jacket and trousers as he went back to the bedroom, coming back out in his normal white shirt and grey sweats as lounging clothes.  “Oh please, I’ve told you time and time again: you don’t owe me anything.  You’ve given me a roof over my head and I don’t have to kill anyone for a living.  Don’t act all upset because you got me the wrong sized pants, you’ve gotten me enough.”

\------

Spring cleaning with Steve usually consisted of sweeping the floor until he stumbled across The Box, whereupon he would sit and go through The Box until he went and sulked in bed for a few hours. Things rarely got actually clean during Spring Cleaning.

Steve had been sweeping for a little more than ten minutes when he found The Box where he had last left it, under a blanket in the deepest corner of the living room.  He was halfway done with slowly going through the contents when he sensed Bucky behind him.  He patted the ground so Bucky would sit and slid him The Box, depression and mourning beginning to seep through his body like blood. 

“It’s all our old shit,” he explained.  He had no reason to be mourning now because Bucky was home and safe, but it was still memories of what once was and what they could have been.

“This  your girlfriend?” Bucky asked as he looked through, handing over Steve’s old compass that contained a photo of Peggy.

Steve shook his head, putting the compass back in the box before he even bothered to open it back up.  “We weren’t in love or anything, but I liked her and she liked me.  We were alright until you happened and I accidentally crashed a plane, and then I was sent home while she’s still out to fight.  She said she’d, uh, take my dancing virginity, but that hasn’t happened and it won’t anytime soon.”

“I’ll do it for her.  Take your virginity, that is,” Bucky mumbled as he pulled on a hat he wore when he was eleven.

“I, er…” Steve’s face turned pink as he sputtered before finally managing to say, “Dancing, right?”  It wasn’t the prospect of sex or talking about sex that he was caught off guard by, no, that was fine, just the fact that his best friend has just nonchalantly offered to take his virginity.  Dancing virginity.  Because Steve would definitely not have sex with or fall in love with Bucky.  Nope.

“What’d you think I meant?  And why can’t you just call her up?” Bucky asked, now carefully studying a photo of him and Steve when they were kids, arms swung over each other’s shoulders.

“She and I kinda had a dramatic ending there.  I don’t wanna reopen old wounds for either of us.  Besides, she’s probably moved on to someone better and I’ve only just finally let her go.  No point now.  Never got that dance, though.”

"We could do it.  I’ve got a suit now, so we could go soon.”

“It’s a date,” Steve said, folding up the box once Bucky handed it back and sliding it back into the corner until it would be rediscovered next year.

\------

Stark was holding some sort of fundraiser ball dancing banquet something-or-other two weeks later, and true to his word, Bucky showed up after a brief outing alone with two tickets and coffee filters.

Both of them pulled on their suits and walked to the ball as guests rather than caterers for once, and while they felt out of place the second they walked in and were surrounded by rich snobs, but Steve was finally going to get his first dance.

They were halfway to the dance floor when Tony approached, looking relieved.

“Thank God you two are finally here.  If Pepper puts on one more of these balls, I’ll chop one of my own off.  I don’t suppose you have one of your blueberry pies in your back pocket, do you, Steve?” He asked, deflating as Steve shook his head.  Tony looked like he was going to say more but was then whisked away by more old people with more money than Bucky and Steve could even dream about.

“How’d you even get the tickets?” Steve asked, both of them taking drinks from a passing waiter.

“Fluttering my eyelashes at Ms. Potts and shoveling out a couple of paychecks when my looks didn’t do a single thing for her.”

Steve snorted and the two downed their drinks, talking idly to others that approached them.  Once the music played, Bucky pulled him out to dance with all the old folk.

"Do you ever suddenly realize that we don’t know how to dance?” Steve asked, glancing around the room.

“Most these bastards are prehistoric.  They’ll be dead before they can realize that we don’t know what the hell we’re doing,” Bucky replied, which got him a swat on the arm from Steve. 

They mimicked the hold of those around them, Bucky’s hands on Steve’s shoulders and Steve’s on Bucky’s waist, the two of them close together which Steve didn’t mind at all.  They swayed together, and while there were a few murmurs of “Are those two men dancing?  I suppose marriage is legal now…” But Bucky and Steve ignored them and they generally ignored Bucky and Steve. 

“You know, I don’t get what the fuss is about dancing.  I’ve stepped on your foot, what, three times now?” Steve asked, looking down at Bucky. 

“Really?  Only three times?” Bucky teased, poking Steve’s abdomen.  “You can do a lot of things, Steve, but I’ve gotta say that dancing isn’t one of them.”

"I’m not _that_ bad,” he retorted.  They were moving in a circle and holding each other, it wasn’t really rocket science.  Except for the part where they waltzed in a circle.  And when they held each other. 

Peggy knew how to dance.  She would’ve been able to whip Steve into shape, no problem.  He wouldn’t have stepped on her toes and she would’ve actually been able to remember everything the two of them did together.  Granted, they hadn’t done much together outside of the war; they went to a pub once, he kissed another girl and Peggy ended up shooting at him (it would’ve been less terrifying if the gun hadn’t been loaded, which neither one knew that it was.  She had just wanted to scare him and he was lucky enough to grab a shield produced by none other than Stark Industries themselves), they kissed once before his plane incident, and then he was home to mourn both the past and what could have been.

But he was lucky enough to have at least one person come home to him, and he wasn’t about to ask for another.  He was happy and in love with who he had (Steve had finally made a decision to stop denying it), and he had to doubt whether he and Peggy would have worked out anyway; she was strong and confident and pushed Steve to his limits, and he, well, liked to bake pies.

“Hey, Steve, you okay?” Bucky asked, snapping his fingers in front of Steve’s face.  Steve blinked a couple of times before looking down at Bucky.  “You stopped dancing, pal.  You alright?”

"Yeah, sorry, guess I was out of it.  I was thinking.”

“About?” Bucky asked, taking Steve’s hand in his own and pulling him away from the crowds dancing around them.

“Peggy.  You know, the girl in the compass,” Steve explained.

“Do you miss her?” Bucky asked.

Steve considered this for a long moment before slowly shaking his head, sad smile on his face.  He mourned her for a different reason he mourned Bucky.  He loved her because she was there at the time and got him back on a somewhat-path once Bucky was gone and he loved her for that, but he never _loved_ her.  He was in love with the idea of being in love with her, and he owed her to his soul for helping him not kill himself, but he was never truly going to be hers and she was never going truly be his; while she was his sun and moon, Bucky was his entire galaxy. 

\------

On one warm day, Steve showed up in front of the bakery on a beautiful motorcycle, fit with him wearing his old, brown leather jacket and everything.

“Better watch out, Steve, looks like Coulson’s about ready to pounce,” Natasha teased, pointing at the man who was scanning over some files with Fury, watching Steve like he was an angel.  His face turned pink and he pretended to go back to his file, though he could be caught looking at Steve every now and again.  

“So you finally got her back, huh?” Clint asked as Steve stepped into the bakery, grinning ear-to-ear. 

“Got who back?” Bucky asked, putting down his white cupcake liners to see what all the fuss was about.

“The bike’s my pride and joy,” Steve explained.  “Bought it a little over a year ago, and some jackass ran over it last fall.  She’s been in the shop for ages and she cost me a fortune, but now she’s back and I don’t have to worry about taking a damn taxi anytime soon.”

“You bought her on a whim after Loki, right?” Bruce asked, and Bucky frowned.

Sensing his confusion, Steve turned to Bucky.  “You know Thor, the big burly Norwegian that comes in with his girlfriend and looks like the Norse god of thunder himself?” Bucky nodded, and Steve continued.  “Not long after we opened, Thor was coming in daily.  He’d come in at lunch time, get his pie, talk to us, and leave.  So his brother, Loki, was crazy.  There was some kind of daddy issue involving playing favorites or something going on in the family, and Loki pretty much decided to destroy everything Thor loved.  His car, his apartment, everything.  And I guess that included Potts’ Pies.

“So one night once the shop was closed, he threw paint on the walls, ripped down all the cabinets and shelves on the walls, ripped the shit out of our ovens, smashed most of our tables and chairs, ripped up some flooring, the whole shebang.  By the time he was done here, the police arrived and took him away.  Apparently Jane was next on his list, so it’s a pretty good thing they caught him while they did.”

“Joke’s on him, because we ended up getting a nicer bakery out of it in the end,” Natasha said. “New furniture and appliances, plus it was our first experience working with Bruce, which made him an obvious contender for when we needed to hire someone new.”

“I was a regular and saw a business in need,” Bruce said with a sheepish grin.  “I figured science could take a day off so I could help repaint.”

“I never liked Loki from the minute I saw him,” Clint said, which got an eye roll from Steve and Natasha.

“Oh, please.  You were under his spell; you were practically in love with the guy,” Steve retorted.

“With your little glassy eyed expression whenever he stepped into the bakery and taking orders from him, no questions asked, you were practically on your knees giving him a blowjob before he opened his mouth,” Natasha said with a teasing grin, and Clint blushed scarlet.

“Both of you shut up.   I didn’t like him from the moment I saw him, alright?  I was just… intimidated by him.  Yeah.”

“Intimidated by his good looks?” Bruce asked, and Clint stomped back to the kitchen sink, muttering about how he should’ve stayed working at the circus.

\------

“So, are you gonna take me for a ride?” Bucky asked a few days later as Steve was washing the motorcycle up while the sun was starting to go down.

“It’s, er, it’d be a tight squeeze,” Steve said, drying the bike with care.  “Like, flushed chest to back.”

“I don’t mind if you don’t,” Bucky said with a shrug.  “And considering that we cuddle every night, I think we can handle riding a bike.”

Steve ran a wet hand through his hair and nodded, pointing to their apartment above them.  “There’s a helmet in the hall closet.  You can wear that, I don’t need one.”

Bucky left to collect it while Steve finished drying the bike.  When he returned, Steve helped Bucky into the helmet and hesitated just for a second before sliding onto the bike.  “Now, get on behind me and slide up the seat until you’re comfortable.”

Bucky did as Steve asked and, just like Steve had said, his chest was pressed right against Steve’s back.

“Hands around my waist,” Steve commanded, and before Bucky could verbally remark about how they were both thinking it was much more intimate and cozy than just sleeping, Steve took off.  The second the bike was moving, Steve could feel Bucky clinging onto him for dear life.  He opened his eyes for just a moment after a minute of hanging on, but he quickly shut them again and concentrated on the feel of Steve against him rather than the fact that they were zipping down the streets on a bike.

He hadn’t noticed they had stopped until Steve was working on prying Bucky’s hands off of him, and Bucky quickly released his grip and shakily stood up.

 “Let’s, uh, let’s not do that again anytime soon,” Bucky said, shaking as they cut through the bakery and up the stairs to their apartment, helmet under his arm. 

“Really?” Steve asked, shrugging off his coat and tossing it onto a chair once they stepped into the apartment, Bucky sinking into the couch.  “I thought you would’ve loved it.  You know, adventure and looking cool while doing it.  That just seems like your sort of thing.”

“Jumping through hoops of fire is something adventurous that you look cool while doing, too,” Bucky pointed out.  “Christ, where’d you learn to drive?”

“You’re just a baby,” Steve said, sitting next to Bucky, and Bucky stuck his tongue out at his friend. 

When Bucky had finally calmed down enough, he placed the helmet back in the closet along with his coat, giving Steve a worried look as he returned.  “If it’s alright with you, I’m gonna keep taking taxis for a while.”

\------

One day, as Steve was pressing down a pie crust, he heard a customer mention dancing, and then Steve was suddenly out of the bakery and back on his plane.  He was talking to Peggy and trying not to let himself cry, with every part of his body, physically and mentally, in pain.  He could taste blood on his chapped lips and he had killed who he was supposed to, but hell if he should know how to fly a plane.

Peggy was saying how they should dance, and he tried to joke along, but he knew this was the end of this life chapter.  He was either going to crash the plane and die, which honestly wouldn’t be too bad, or be sent home to live alone, which would most likely be the worst possible thing for him. 

Peggy was talking about the band now, God bless her for talking him through this in her normal calm and collected way and Steve heard himself say something about stepping on her feet, and then the ocean engulfed the plane.  Water poured through the cracks and Steve tried and tried to scream as water kept rushing into his mouth, sadness and panic overcoming him as he realized that this was the end, but not wanting to bother with getting up and saving himself, either.  Water poured in his nose and mouth, and he was trying to breathe despite the water pouring into his lungs, and then he was being pulled back to reality by several pairs of concerned pairs of hands gripping at him.  He heard someone else screaming as well, though he quickly realized that it was himself. 

The bakery was completely silent in both the kitchen and the eating areas as Steve took in deep breaths, vaguely aware of Bucky in front of him and Natasha squeezing his hand.

“Steve?” Natasha slowly asked, and Steve looked up to meet her eye.  “Let’s get you back upstairs, alright?”

  Steve shook his head and turned back to his pie crust, though the dish had been cracked now and his hands were bleeding from the ceramic slicing into his palms.  He straightened himself, shaking and taking shuddering breaths as whispers from customers began starting up with their normal chatter again.

“How long was I… I mean…”

“Less than a minute,” Natasha replied.  “Clint took Bruce outside; you know how he is with stress, and, well, we didn’t need anything else to happen right now.”

Natasha pulled Bucky away after that, and Steve heard Natasha mention “happened before” and Bucky insisting that he could take care of him before he felt Bucky push him gently towards the stairs.  He sat numbly on the counter as Bucky wiped the blood off his hands and put band-aids around the cuts.  He crawled into bed after that and Bucky pulled their comforter up around him, feeling both too scared to sleep in case of nightmares and wanting to do nothing but sleep.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Bucky asked, standing at the end of the bed.  “Or can I get you anything?  Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” Steve replied.  “Go back to work.  I’m fine.”

Bucky hesitated before shaking his head.  “No.  If you feel like you’re going to, you know… do something really bad, then I need to stay.  I’ll stay here until you fall asleep, alright?” Bucky laid next to him as he said he would, and Steve shut his eyes. 

 “Bucky, I’m not going to-“

  “You’re my responsibility, too, you know.  I can’t lose you, Steve.  If you lied and anything happened today, that wouldn’t…  Just let me stay, alright?”

Steve fell asleep after that, and as soon as he was out like a light, Bucky retreated back to the kitchen where the four workers took shifts watching him for the rest of the afternoon. 

\------

Steve didn’t get out of bed the morning after.  It took some time to convince Bucky to go downstairs and work and to just let him sleep alone all day, and once Bucky had reluctantly agreed and left, Steve was left alone to listen to his own monsters.  

Despite what Bucky said, Steve knew he killed him.  He knew that he killed Bucky, that Peggy had moved on, and that Steve had messed up his dream of fighting for his country.  What had once just been mourning was now depression that he carried with him everywhere, whether it be from PTSD or just an off day.  Even besides what the flashback was about, it could push him into a put of depression, and he couldn’t stop it. 

Steve moved to Bucky’s side of the bed, where the sheets were cooler from lack of body heat, and pressed his face into Bucky’s pillow.  Frankly, he wanted to die.  Frankly, he was home alone in his apartment, and could do it.  When he got low, everything became a death trap.  He could use anything to drown or smother himself with, and it was when these thoughts came pouring in that Steve quickly pushed himself out of bed and climbed onto the fire escape.  It didn’t make much of a difference and now the voice in his head was not only reminding him that he was shit, but it was reminding him that he could climb to the roof and jump, and he pulled his knees up to his chest and took deep breaths as he listened to the loud city below him.

He made it to the roof eventually but mostly stayed near the center, trying to stay in the warm sun while the cool spring breeze cut through his thin pajamas, and while he did make It a little closer to the edge than he should have safely been a couple of times, he talked himself out.  It was one of these closer to the edge times that Bucky finally came up from the bakery, pure panic on his face as Steve felt himself being roughly yanked down until he fell to the floor.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Bucky yelled, climbing over Steve to pin him down.  “I thought you were in bed!  I came up to see if we had any blueberries to pick yet!  What the fuck are you doing?”

Steve didn’t answer and instead pulled Bucky down on top of him so Steve could press his face into Bucky’s shoulder while Bucky kneaded his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“Were you gonna do anything?” Bucky asked after a long silence.

“No.  Maybe.  Hell, I don’t know,” Steve answered, taking his arms back from around Bucky.  “I… was thinking about it, I guess.”

Bucky sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face.  He eventually got up and pulled Steve with him and didn’t release his hand as he began tugging him off the roof and back down the fire escape.  When Steve began going back through the window to their apartment, Bucky tugged at his arm again.   

“I can’t leave you alone ‘til I know you’re not gonna do something dumb.  Just…fuck me, can you sit in the kitchen ‘til we close up the shop?  I can’t leave them right now, but it’s only another couple hours.  Can you make it?”

Steve nodded slowly and Bucky squeezed his hand gently.  Steve averted the eyes of all his coworkers as he entered the kitchen, while Bucky shot them all looks to keep them quiet.  Steve sat on a stool or stood close to Bucky as the day finished, and as soon as they were back in the apartment that night, Bucky hovered protectively near Steve as he made Steve eat some scrambled eggs, drink some water, piss, and brush his teeth before he let Steve get back in bed. 

Steve rolled away from Bucky as Bucky sat there, eyes drilling into Steve’s neck, and once Steve realized that Bucky wouldn’t go to sleep himself or at least leave until he knew that Steve was asleep, Steve shut his eyes and began taking heavier breaths after a while.  He remained like that until Bucky let out an exhausted sigh, laid down next to him, and slipped his hand into Steve’s.  If he knew that Steve wasn’t really sleeping, he didn’t say anything, and Steve thanked God that he didn’t. 

\------

While Steve was still in a dark place after that, he pretended he was better.  He’d get up in the morning, plaster a smile on his face all day and bake pies like nothing was wrong, but the world seemed dark and moved in slow motion, and it almost seemed like he was just thrown into a scene in a movie where everyone was fine and knew what to do while he was lost and scared and thinking about not great things every few minutes.

Steve made it a general rule after he hit rock bottom after Bucky died to never get full-on drunk again.  He allowed himself a couple of drinks with friends and he would drink alone on a rough night, but he wouldn’t let himself get drunk again.  And as much as he wanted a drink, he still ended up at a bar with Bucky, sipping a coke while Bucky downed a few drinks as they just talked.

On the plus side, Steve had gotten Bucky back onto the motorcycle in order to get to the bar.  On the other hand, motorcycles didn’t seem good at all for someone who was drunk.  It was going fast and going in and out of traffic, and there was a possibility the night would end with Bucky throwing up all over Steve’s back, which wouldn’t help Steve’s state at all.

“You know, I don’t know what was so scary before,” Bucky slurred, leaning against Steve as Steve led him to the bike.  “She’s just like ridin’ a… a… I dunno.  She’s good for ridin’.”

“Can I trust you to hold onto me and not ruin either of our clothes?” Steve asked as he got on, Bucky getting on behind him and slumping against his back.  Bucky laughed and nodded against Steve’s coat and swung his arms loosely around Steve’s waist, his grip tightening more than it needed to after a second of inhaling Steve’s jacket.

“I’ll be fine.  Just get us home, ‘m tired.”

Steve zipped through the streets and made it back without any accidents from Bucky, and once they got back, Bucky got off the bike and fell right down to the sidewalk. 

“Alright, c’mon,” Steve said, exhausted from everything.  He pulled Bucky’s arm to the room and dumped Bucky onto the bed, where Bucky then pressed his face down into Steve’s pillow and said something, the sound of it muffled.

“What was that?” Steve asked, grabbing an aspirin and glass of water from the joined bathroom and placing it on Bucky’s table.  He was going to have a big hangover in the morning, and Steve didn’t want him to have to suffer any more than he had to, even if that suffering was just going to be taking ten steps into the bathroom.

“I said,” Bucky began impatiently, raising his head from the pillow, “I said that… I said… I said that your pillow smells good.”

“Oh.  Thanks, I guess,” Steve said, pulling Bucky’s shoes off.

“Smells like pie and soap and Steve.  Safe. ‘S my favorite smell.”

“Thanks,” he repeated, kicking off his own shoes and slacks to replace them with sweats and socks.

“Noooo,” Bucky whined, watching Steve.  “Leave the pants off.  Your ass is-“

“Thank you, Bucky,” Steve said firmly this time, getting in bed, wanting to be left alone so he could sleep in silence.  “Now please just stop talking and sleep?”

 Bucky nodded and mumbled, “’Kay,” pressing his ear to Steve’s chest, the snoring from him starting up barely a minute later.

Of course Bucky would like Steve’s smell and ass.  Of course he would.  Steve wanted to just block out everything involving him and Bucky being even a little bit romantically involved, and Bucky had just resurfaced everything Steve had been trying to keep down.  And better yet of course Bucky would do this when Steve felt the lowest he had in a long time. 

God dammit.

Bucky wouldn’t even remember it in the morning, too.  Steve would be able to say that it was just a dream if Bucky asked, because why both saying that yes, he did, in fact, comment on his ass and scent and held onto Steve’s waist a little too tight on the way home.  On the other hand, Steve could take advantage of this situation and actually say that it all happened which could potentially lead to a relationship, but also perhaps ruin anything they could have or would have had in the future if they broke up.

God _dammit_.

Or Steve could just pretend that Bucky wasn’t nuzzling his chest and that Steve wasn’t trying to hide an oh-so-secret crush and that nothing was ever happening ever and continue living as best friends, even if one of them had amnesia and the other one was trying to remain patient with the fact that the other one didn’t remember anything about how own best friend.

But at least Bucky was home now.  Sure, he killed some people (good God, there was a murderer cuddling his chest right now), but he was still Bucky.  He had been tossed back into his life as suddenly as he had been ripped from it, but now he was finally home and Steve had more of a purpose than the one he had only recently accepted, that old purpose being to keep the bakery stocked with pies.

And at least this night had distracted him from the flashback.  Or it had until Steve had just thought about it, which suddenly made this night much worse, and now he was cursing himself for not properly landing a plane.  He missed Peggy, he missed being able to sleep and go through life without flashbacks or depression, and he missed not having to worry about potential triggers.  Hell, he had gone on an actual dancing date with no problem just a couple months back with no worries, and now briefly hearing someone in a bakery mention it led him to turn back into this?

He despised himself, and he couldn’t do anything to fix it.  He hated that he was like this, that he couldn’t just not worry about when he’d have another dark day or not.  He hated his personality and that Bucky was forced into living with him and that he was only good for baking.  He hated that he was a good guy, but he couldn’t do anything but hate himself.  He hated that Bucky was asleep on his chest, smelling like alcohol, like nothing was wrong in the world and that everything would be ok. 

He was suffering through depression alone, despite being surrounded by those that cared about him, and he hated it.  In addition to that, to make matters better, he found himself falling for Bucky (both new and old him) more and more each day.  Steve decided that he was going to drive himself mad if he kept thinking about what had come out of Bucky’s drunk mouth and his flashback from the day before, so he squeezed his eyes shut in hopes of falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the support on the last chapter! I hope you liked this one, too!   
> Again, please let me know if you spot any typos.


	3. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring turned into summer, and Steve's ice began to melt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. Oops.

The green grass turned a little browner and the weather skyrocketed as spring turned into summer.  Bucky’s garden was in full bloom now, tomatoes now part of their freshly grown collection.  They had started as just being something for personal cooking purposes, but then Bruce picked up trying out tomato cookies.  While those weren’t incredibly popular, they weren’t bad.

The bakery was hot in the summer, to say the least.  Despite the air conditioning blowing, between the multiple hot ovens being opened and closed as baked goods slid and out and customers letting in heat from the outside as they came in and out, it was miserable. 

Steve had gotten a bit better and made it through the previous season without another flashback, thank God.  He wasn’t thinking of doing anything dumb and he was generally pretty happy again.  He had a bad day here and there still, but he wasn’t nearly as bad as he was before. 

“So, are you going to keep staring at Barnes’ ass all day?” Natasha asked behind Steve one hot day, causing him to jump and spin around. 

“I wasn’t!” he objected, and she raised her eyebrows.  “I wouldn’t.  We’re just friends.”

“You’ve been working on pressing that same spot of pie crust for five minutes now,” she pointed out, and Steve dropped his hands to his sides.  “Not to mention that you’re blushing like a teenager and won’t meet my eyes.  No use lying to me, you know I can read everyone like an open book.”

“Look, just don’t mention this to anyone, alright?” Steve asked as he wiped sweat from his brow, and she nodded.

“Hey, I don’t blame you, he’s a looker.  He’s a good kid.  If you two had nothing to do with each other and I wasn’t gay, I probably would have claimed him for myself.”

“Thanks, Natasha.  Nice to know you approve,” Steve said sarcastically, and Natasha grinned. 

She and Steve formed a nice little friendship bond after that; while they had been friends before, they now had the same kind of friendship that six year olds have  after sharing a secret.  This led to Natasha talking about her own secret girlfriend, which led to a friendship that was more than the occasional gong out for a drink (which Steve hadn’t done much with the group since Bucky was back) and gossiping and betting about coworkers and regular customers.  Somewhere along the way, Steve agreed to go out without Bucky and just spend an afternoon with Natasha, the two of them wandering around Central Park.

“So, can you tell me about this secret girlfriend of yours?  Or is it an ‘if you told me, you’d have to kill me’ sort of situation?” He asked as they stepped around a hotdog bun and a flock of pigeons pecking it, and she gave a sly grin.

“The thing is, Steve, I don’t want my life to be defined by who I’m in a relationship with or not.  I don’t want to be a Natasha-and-anybody kind of deal with anyone.  So I could tell you with no problems, but I just don’t get why bother.  By the way, I’m not going to let our friendship be defined by purely talking about other people.  So, tell me about you, Steve.  Tell me about your childhood.”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he bargained, and it hit Steve as soon as he said that that he didn’t actually know shit about Natasha’s life besides that she was from Russia.  She kept mostly to herself when it came to talking about her life.

Natasha tensed but nodded.  “My parents died in a fire.  I was adopted by a family friend, he trained me practically everything I know which, yes, includes breaking into homes, which is good to know considering that I get in your apartment every now and again.  He ended up falling in love with me, fucking disgusting creep, and I killed him.  I came to America, learned English, got a job in a bakery.  Does that answer your question?”

“You’re joking, right?  Sounds like something out of a comic.” Steve asked after a long minute of processing this, and her cold stare answered him.  “Oh.  Alright.  I, er, my dad died when I was a baby and my mom died when I was a kid.  I went to an orphanage, a kid called Bucky saved my ass from a couple of bullies.  I had just about everything wrong with me that you could imagine, but I worked out when I decided I wanted to fight in the war and everything miraculously got better.  I’m sure you know the rest.”

“How the hell did we both end up with backstories like that?” She asked.  “You have that and I have me and Clint was in the circus and Bruce had his dad.  Hell, even Stark’s got his whole being kidnapped thing, and Barnes had his memory ripped out of him.  How the hell did we all end up in one little bakery in New York?”

Steve shook his head and rubbed his eyes.  “Maybe we should hire someone normal next.  Just some kid who grew up in a nice household and stayed away from drugs and death, you know?”

Natasha laughed.  “Hell, we all probably have some sort of curse.  They work for us and their house burns down.  They get promoted and their pet dies.”

“Any chance we can change the subject away from death?” Steve asked after a moment of the conversation settling, and Natasha nodded.  “Alright, back to your secret girlfriend…”

\------

To make his stupid Captain America name that Bucky had given him even better, Steve was born on the fourth of July.  He couldn’t get much more patriotic than that.  His birthday would be celebrated on their roof with a grill, and then staying up to see if anyone was setting off fireworks (Tony always set off fireworks; the man wouldn’t pass up a chance to draw attention to himself, and what better way than causing multicolored explosions to fly from your skyscraper?), the night complete with burgers and ice cream cake, which was the only thing nobody in the restaurant could figure out how to perfect. 

Bruce was in charge of tending the burgers on the grill while Hulk jumped to get whatever meat scraps he could find, and the rest of the gang busied themselves by picking tomatoes from Bucky’s vine or making sure everyone had a full bottle of beer.  Steve got to sit on the edge off the roof, legs dangling off, watching the hustle and bustle of the busy street.  It was hot as hell out, worse considering that there was no shade on the roof, but he was with friends.  A burger got passed to him after a while of watching people on the street below and Bucky sat next to his friend. 

“Another year older, huh?  How old are you, ninety-five?” Bucky teased, trying to keep his tone light, but both of them knew that Bucky legitimately didn’t know how old the man was.

“I’m finally thirty.  I didn’t think I’d live to see the day, really,” Steve said, taking a bite of the food.  “Hell, when we were kids, I barely thought I’d live to see fifteen, let alone thirty.  If I hadn’t died from one disease or another, I definitely would’ve thought starvation.  But I’m still here, surprisingly.  I made it.”

“You made it,” Bucky repeated, clicking the neck of his beer bottle to Steve’s. 

Just like for Bucky’s birthday, all Steve received from the gang was a note that read ‘IOU a motorcycle upgrade – Tony Stark’, followed by Clint once again making the bad joke that it was from all of them.  From Bucky was a gift certificate for one dance lesson at the local studio, and Steve laughed.

“Maybe there will be less stepping on my feet next time, huh?” Bucky said with a grin.  “And maybe we won’t spend the entire time looking like idiots, either.”  Steve raised his eyebrows at the thought of ‘next time’, but he grinned anyway and slipped both notes into his pocket.

After that, all five of them (plus Hulk) ate their ice cream cake and then laid on hot roof, feet still dangling off the edge, and the minute it was dark, fireworks started going off in every direction.  From Stark Tower was stars and explosions of every size, shape, and color, and other buildings in other directions blasted a few as well, though theirs weren’t as over-the-top as Stark’s display. 

 Steve felt Bucky’s hand curl around his own as it so often did, and a thumb brushed across his knuckles as the last of Stark’s fireworks went off.  With his belly full of cake and friends surrounding him, Steve was another year older.

\------

 A week later, a massive storm knocked out all the power up and down the City.  The bakery closed until it came back, and until then, they were on their own.  This would have been great if it happened during any other time of the year, but, no, it happened during the hottest time of the year.

Steve came out of the bathroom after his third cold shower of the day, beginning to consider just sitting under the cool water until the power came back on, but that would be wasteful to water and he was going to have to eat sometime. 

After changing into his shorts and t-shirt, he headed to the living room, whereupon his first sight was a shirtless Bucky stretched out on the couch, arms behind his head, smiling at Steve.

God dammit. 

“Think the power’s gonna get back on anytime soon?” Bucky asked, and Steve shook his head.

“As nice as our area is, they’ve got bigger districts to switch on first.  Our power will be on tomorrow at earliest,” Steve said, lying on the ground next to Bucky, a breeze from the window pushing more hot air into the apartment.

“We should sleep on the roof,” Bucky said, rolling over to look at Steve.  “And get ice cream for dinner.”

 “I bet every open place within a mile of here with ice cream or anything remotely cool is sold out.  We have stuff for peanut butter sandwiches,” Steve said, his sweat already starting to make the shirt stick to him again.

Bucky groaned and shut his eyes.  “Hell, it’d be more like peanut butter toast at this point.  Not that it matters, now I’m too hot to move.”

“I should see if I can get Stark to make us a wireless fan.  Do they make those?  Tony could figure it out.”

Bucky slowly sat up, a peeling noise going off as his back left the couch.  “It’s my turn to shower now.” And the two of them continued taking turns in the shower, as wasteful as it was, until it was dark and cool enough to go outside. 

They spread a cool sheet on the ground and laid on that, and though the warmth of the roof still seeped through the blanket, it wasn’t horrible. 

“Guess it’s too hot out to spoon, huh?” Bucky asked, once again taking Steve’s hand.  “Shame.  I can’t sleep without you.”

Steve rolled to face Bucky and Bucky turned to face Steve, and if it had been a few degrees cooler and the time was right, they maybe would have kissed.  And as much as they both wanted to, they didn’t, and they instead kept silently looking at each other until it was finally cool enough to fall asleep.

\------

 As soon as the power was back on the next afternoon, their air conditioner burst.  At least this time, Bucky and Steve could have several fans blasting on them from different directions.  The earliest the repairman could come out was, once again, the next day, but at least it was comfortable enough for Steve and Bucky to be able to sit and watch TV or use Steve’s laptop without the heat getting to them too much.  They were both lying on the bed at the moment because that room seemed to be the coolest and was closest to the shower’s cold water.  This also got the bakery another day off, because nobody would want to stand in a hot kitchen with the added heat of outside.

"This still isn’t as bad as the weather used to be way back when,” Steve mused.  “We never had money for air conditioning at all, much less a repairman.  We had fans all the time, though, although even they didn’t help some days.  But this probably would’ve felt like a cool day to us.”

“One of the problems of having money, huh?  Being spoiled by air conditioning,” Bucky replied, grabbing for Steve’s hand.  But this time when Bucky went to reach for him, Steve pulled his hand back and sighed. 

“What are we doing, Buck?” he asked, looking up at the ceiling.  “We hold hands and spoon like it’s completely normal for two grown men to do.  Hell, maybe it is, but it isn’t, you know?”

“So what are you saying?” Bucky asked.

“I…”  Steve thought it over for a long moment.  What was he saying?  He loved being able to do this with Bucky, God knows he did, but he needed more.   “I’m saying that were maybe being more romantic than platonic friends should be.  Don’t you think?”

“I think that your dick isn’t up my ass yet and so hand holding is nothing compared to what we could be doing.  Shut up and just hold my damn hand like the fucking man you are.”

“Too hot, anyway,” Steve replied, keeping his hand firmly at his side now as he felt his face turn pink.  “Let’s just…  I dunno.  I dunno, Buck.”

 “Do you love me?”

Steve froze as tried to think of an answer while ignoring Bucky’s expectant stare.  Did he?  Yes.  Was now the time or place to be discussing this?  Well, honestly, probably.  But were they going to?  No.  Steve would avoid this conversation at all cost for at least a little while longer, if he could.  A more welcoming thing for Bucky to say would be ‘I love you’, and that would give Steve the green light that he can talk about everything in the world, but it was a question and he could easily still be shot down.  There was still a chance that this wasn’t a green light, but more of a yellow light: to be approached slowly and with caution so he won’t be hit by a truck of rejection (or something else as horribly cliché as that thought).

“I…” He trailed off, waiting for the door knock or phone ring to interrupt him just like they always saved people in all the movies and shows.  When that didn’t come, he scrubbed his face with his hand.  “Let’s go out for dinner tonight.  Go out for Chinese or something.  Bring Nat and Clint.”

Bucky searched Steve’s face for a long moment before he nodded and rolled away from Steve.

\------

“Up already?” Natasha asked the next morning.  Steve, who hadn’t heard her, turned quickly, heart thudding quickly.  It was three in the morning and Steve was finishing up his pie baking and freezing method so he could go back to watching Bucky.  Natasha was still in her pajamas, unsurprisingly, though the city continued to stay awake outside of their doors.  The air conditioning had been fixed the previous night after Bucky, Steve, Natasha, and Clint returned from their dinner, Bucky and Steve barely looking at each other throughout the whole meal. 

“Nah, couldn’t sleep,” Steve replied.  “Why are you up this early?”

“Haven’t even gone to bed yet.  Clint and I have been talking, Cap, and we need to hire someone else onto the team,” she replied.  “You and Barnes have play dates every now and then when you run off, and that’s fine, you don’t do it often, but Clint and I want some time off and you could get more off too.  Does that sound fair?” Steve didn’t even have to consider it before nodding.  She paused before slowly continuing.  “We’re bringing in Thor.”

“Now I kinda wish that you had been talking to me about this from the beginning.  Thor?  A little taller than me?  Blonde?  Norwegian?  Whose brother tried to destroy the bakery and will probably do it again if he gets out of jail?”

“I know, I know, it sounds like a bad plan, but the guys passionate about the bakery and we could use him.  He’ll take things in and out of the oven and frost the cupcakes whenever you two are gone, and maybe that means that Clint, Bruce and I can actually have a few days off now and then, too.  The guys like a machine; he’ll be able to handle filling in for all of us.  And on days when all four of us are here, he can take that day off.  Hell, we can make a schedule.  He starts today, we hired him already.  Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I mean, I just wish that you guys had at least asked before you hired the guy whose brother is a psychopath,” Steve said.

“He’ll be fine and Loki’s not getting out of jail anytime soon; last I heard, he was in a straightjacket in a cell locked tight enough that it may as well have been a different planet,” she replied.  “And now, if you excuse me, I’m going back to bed.”

\------

After that, Bucky and Steve pretended like their brief conversation never happened, Steve and Natasha saw a few movies, Thor fit right in and everyone else was allowed days off as well, and the bakery generally became a cool and happy place again.

At the beginning of September, Steve and Bucky took off for another day, only this time was for the beach rather than the amusement park.  They were both stretched on towels, slathered in sunscreen, exhausted form waking up at the crack of dawn to get ahead in baking so they could take off for the day, but the warm sun and the sound of the waves made up for that.  The month made it great because most kids were back at school so the beach wasn’t as crowded, even though it was still pretty bad.

Bucky scooted up his towel until he was at eye level with Steve, and Steve rolled to face Bucky.  “Now why is it that we complain about not having the air on, but we go to the hot beach for pleasure?” He asked.

“We’ve been spoiled by air conditioning.  Hey, if you wanna cool down, you can go swim in the Atlantic,” Steve said, motioning to the water a few yards away.  “Just be careful you don’t turn into a block of ice.  If you did, by the way, I’d be super pissed because I’m not gonna lose you again.”

“I won’t turn into ice, I promise,” Bucky said with one of his dopey smiles.

And there, on the crowded beach, Bucky leaned over and kissed Steve full on the mouth, their noses bumping as they went.  And there, feeling like a million explosions were going off in his body, Steve kissed him back.  Steve’s full and soft lips were pressed against Bucky’s thin and chapped ones, and the kiss was neither desperate nor shy, but rather like they had been kissing like that for years. 

Steve was first to pull back after a few seconds, grinning ear-to-ear.  “Why’d you do that?”

“The timing was right and you clearly weren’t going to make the first move,” Bucky replied, and as he leaned in again, Steve leaned away from him. 

“What do you mean by that?”

Bucky shrugged.  “You were giving me too many mixed signals.  One minute you’re looking at me like I hung the moon, the next you’re avoiding eye contact.  One minute you’re watching my ass, the next you’re looking ready to vomit.  I ask if you love me, you look ready to say yes but you just said you wanted Chinese for dinner.  I figured if you kissed me back, that’d mean something.  Did it mean something?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately, inwardly cringing at how enthusiastic he sounded.  This also made him realize that being subtle wasn’t exactly his thing, was it?  Well, no, that had been apparent after Natasha caught him looking, but it was made even more apparent as Bucky was talking.  “Did it for you?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“So what’s that make us, then?” Steve asked as he rolled onto his back.  “Are we partners or something?  Or are we not gonna give a label ‘til we know how you feel once you’re you again?  What about, you know, sex?  Are we gonna take this slow?”

“Steve, your dick has been rubbing right up on my asshole for the past eight months,” he snorted, and Steve blushed.  “I think we can skip over going slow.  As for partners, yeah.  That’s fine.  That sounds good.  And if your Bucky isn’t good with being partners, well, at least we’ll have experienced something now, right?  You never did tell me if you love me, though.”

Steve moved to place his hands on either side of Bucky’s shoulder and leaned down to kiss him again, taking in his scent of sun lotion, sand, and a faint hint of flour and vanilla.  After a few moments of sucking a bruise onto his neck, Steve bit down and soothed the sting with his tongue as Bucky let out a cry, his yelp muffled as Steve quickly put his hand on Bucky’s mouth so they wouldn’t attract the attention of others on the beach. 

Bucky licked the palm of Steve’s hand and Steve dropped it in surprise.  Bucky spat onto the sand, nose wrinkled.  “You taste like the beach.  No offence, but it’s not a good taste on you.”

“Then let’s go home,” Steve said, and while Bucky pressed his lips to Steve’s neck to revenge by sucking his own bruise, Steve successfully managed not to crash the bike anywhere along the way.

\------

As soon as they were both back inside the apartment and the door was closed, Steve was pressed against the wall, Bucky pinning him there and both of them kissing, now both of them being desperate and needy rather than their gentle first kiss at the beach just an hour before.  Bucky’s own cool tongue slid against Steve’s, and it felt slimy, but it was also surprisingly enjoyable for the both of them.  Steve was thrilled to be kissing him, and he never wanted to stop; each nip or suck on his lips was better than the last.  He would easily do this all day.

But then Bucky was pushing down Steve’s pants.

Kissing was the worst.

Steve tried to move his arms around Bucky’s waist, or at least attempt to pull his own shirt off, but Bucky’s metal arm pinned both his wrists to the wall, the other hand being used to move up Steve’s body.  His hands ghosted over Steve’s nipples and he pinched them, which make Steve gasp into Bucky’s mouth. 

“How do you remember how to do this?” Steve asked, breaking back so his head thunked against the wall, slightly out of breath and pupils blown wide.

“I used your laptop whenever you were out with Nat,” Bucky explained with a grin.  “It’s easy as hell to search ‘guy on guy sex’, you know.” 

“Is that what you did?” Steve gasped, trying to not lose his train of thought as Bucky sucked on a spot under his ear.  “Did you jack off to my laptop screen?  Did you imagine us fucking?  Did you imagine it was my – ah - hand stroking you and pushing you open?”

 “Fuck, Steve,” Bucky hissed, pulling Steve’s shirt down to suck at his collarbone before letting go of Steve’s hands long enough to just pull Steve’s shirt off completely. 

“Did you imagine me sucking you off?” Steve asked, voice rasping as Bucky’s mouth moved to circle his tongue over Steve’s nipple before taking it whole into his mouth.  “Or you sucking me off?  Your face all red and you naked as the day you were born, lips stretched wide over my cock?  Letting me fuck your face until I came and you swallowed?”

“Seems like some of us had our own fantasies, huh?” Bucky asked after pulling away from Steve’s nipple.  He let go of Steve’s wrists and got to his knees.  He mouthed at Steve’s cock through his underpants, a damp spot forming where the head of his cock was.  At Steve’s first groan, Bucky pushed the underpants to the floor and licked a stripe up and down Steve’s shaft before teasing the penis into his mouth.  He sucked the head first before taking it fully into his mouth, or as much as he could before he decided that throwing up probably wouldn’t be the sexiest thing to do.

He began sliding his head up and down Steve’s cock, just like had seen the porn stars do on Steve’s old laptop screen.  And judging by the noises Steve was making above Bucky, Bucky was doing a pretty good job at it.  Bucky fumbled with his own swimming trunks and their stupid Velcro fronts as he kept moving against Steve, his own cock finally springing free so he could stroke himself in time with moving on Steve.

 Bucky felt Steve’s hands grip in his hair and Steve switched back and forth between gripping Bucky’s hair and running his hand through the soft locks.

Bucky circled Steve’s anus with his ring finger, both of them desperately wishing lube was within reaching distance.  Steve opened his eyes to look down at him, and as soon as they locked eyes, and Steve was gone.  Cum filled Bucky’s throat and dripped down the sides of his mouth, and after a few more rough and shaky thrusts of his own, Bucky came into his own hand.  Bucky swallowed the semen with a rough cough and Steve brought Bucky’s palm to his mouth briefly to lick away Bucky’s own come, Bucky letting out a strangled noise as he did so.

Steve pulled Bucky through the house and to the bed, letting Bucky get comfortable as Steve left to get a rag to clean both he and Bucky up.  Steve finally crawled in bed next to Bucky and pressed his chest to Bucky’s back, life suddenly moving fast but not fast enough for the both of them.

“Steve?” Bucky asked, voice raw and sounding rough.  “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” He asked, and Steve let out a sigh and nuzzled the back of Bucky’s neck.

“’Cause we’re idiots,” he mumbled, and he had enough time to feel Bucky’s chest rumble with laughter before he fell asleep.

\------

Steve and Bucky walked down to the bakery early the next morning to get started on pies and cake before the rest of the gang got there.  Neither one of them discussed the events of the night before, though they both did occasionally lean in for a lingering kiss as they passed each other.  They passed another kiss even after the rest of the workers had shown up, and Natasha raised an eyebrow at Steve, who nodded and grinned in return. When Fury and Coulson came into the bakery for their morning pie and coffee, the first thing they did before sitting down to their coffee was disassemble all the cameras in the bakery and apartment, refusing to meet either Bucky or Steve’s eyes.

Steve still wasn’t completely out of a dark place and Bucky still wasn’t completely back to Steve (although he did remember some small details) but life was getting better and better.

“So when’s the big wedding, huh?” Clint asked with a grin, and Steve rolled his eyes while Bucky smirked.

“Only took us, what, twenty years?” Steve asked.

“Would’ve been better if I was there for, like, a quarter of that long,” Bucky replied, and Steve grew somber.

This was the problem.  Bucky could pass his own death off as a joke because he didn’t remember it.  He remembered bits of it, but he didn’t have the same emotional attachments towards it as Steve.  Falling off a train didn’t ruin Bucky’s life.  No, it did and completely fucked him over, but not nearly for the same reasons.  It ruined Bucky’s life because he was an amnesiac and, you know, had to live with the fact that killed people, but Bucky hadn’t had to feel the extreme guilt and awful flashbacks while believing he had killed his best friend.  Steve tried to pretend that he was over that as well and tried to convince himself that he hadn’t killed Bucky, but he still thought it was.  Steve still knew that he had killed Bucky, whether anyone said so or not.  

But besides that, that was the only problem in their relationship.  Just the fact that Steve had nearly killed him and that Bucky didn’t remember his and Steve’s childhood.  And the fact that Steve felt guilty every time Bucky so much as grinned at Steve.  But that was their only problem. 

So maybe it wasn’t the healthiest relationship, no, but at least they were happy together.  Now when – if – _his_ Bucky came back, his thoughts towards their relationship might change a lot.  He may end up being completely straight and unwilling to give it a shot, and that would be the end of that, and Steve would fall back into his dark place and watch Bucky go off and fall in love with another woman or sleep around and not give Steve a second chance or whatever.  That was the only thing keeping Steve from pinning Bucky down and telling him everything about the past from the time they had met right up until Bucky fell off the train, hopefully cracking Bucky in the process.  Steve wasn’t ready to risk losing Bucky yet again, this time because Steve was selfish and wanted Bucky for himself, just for a little while.

He told Natasha just this as the two of them got coffee later, Natasha wanting to know their full story.

 “Would you rather keep having someone that’s practically a stranger sleeping in your bed and eating your food, or would you rather have your old best friend?” was all that Natasha said, swirling the straw in her caramel coffee.

“Say you and your mystery girlfriend were in the same situation and you told her everything ever, and she suddenly remembered that she wasn’t into women, or that she always thought you were actually an asshole,” Steve replied.  “What would you do then?”

“Oy vey,” Natasha muttered.  She downed the rest of her coffee in one go, wishing it would magically become vodka.  “I would want to make her remember everything as quick as possible,” she said after a long moment.  “If she doesn’t love me when she’s really her, then I don’t want to keep living in false hope, especially if I know she’ll remember at some point anyway.”

Damn Natasha and her good points.  “Am I allowed to be a selfish asshole for at least a little while longer?” Steve asked.

Natasha patted his hand gently.  “That’s up to you.  But just know that he may not even remember because of you, Steve.  You telling him everything may do nothing at all, or he may remember before you can even mention your past in full detail.”

\------

Steve mulled over his conversation with Natasha a few days later as he got into bed, knowing the time was going to come sooner or later that Bucky would remember everything.  The sooner, the better, really, before Steve fell too hard and Bucky remembered and gave up on him.

And Steve was going to tell Bucky, he really was, but once Bucky had crawled into Steve’s arms, he was grinding his ass against Steve’s dick.  Oh.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, Bucky turning to place wet kisses on Steve’s neck.  “What the hell are you doing?”

“Do you wanna fuck me, Steve?” Bucky asked, nipping at Steve’s earlobe.  “’Cause I’ll stop if you don’t wanna do anything, but if you to, please oh please do.” 

Trying to get him to remember could wait one more day, right?

Steve pulled Bucky to his face and kissed him with as much passion as Bucky was giving him, their tongues and teeth sliding together.

“I wanna be able to feel you all day tomorrow,” Bucky said, pushing off Steve’s shirt and working on his own.  “I want to walk with a limp all day, knowing you were deep inside me the night before.  Hell, maybe we could even do it tomorrow morning, before work.”

Steve pulled his unused bottle of lube from the bedside drawer, pausing to look at Bucky once Bucky’s pants were down and his legs were spread.  He poured the liquid on one of his fingers and slid it into Bucky, Bucky squirming and cock softening at the feel.  Steve added a second finger and scissored them, which got Steve a better reaction of a groan.  Steve added his third finger and twisted them slightly, and that got him Bucky pushing down on his fingers, letting out another soft moan as Steve twisted his fingers. 

"Please, Steve,” Bucky gasped, erection full again.  Steve fumbled to spread the lube on himself, and as soon as his fingers were out of Bucky, he was pushing back in.  Steve gave Bucky a minute to adjust, taking it as a hint to move once Bucky was working to slide himself along Steve’s cock. 

Steve started at a slow pace, but he gladly followed Bucky’s direction of him saying, “Harder,” every couple of thrusts.  It didn’t take long before Steve was slamming into Bucky at a brutal pace and Bucky was gripping at the sheets with one hand, keeping the metal hand braced against the headboard out of fear of both ripping the sheets and accidentally being slammed against the headboard himself.

Steve pulled Bucky’s legs up around his own shoulders to get better angles, and he slammed into Bucky’s prostate, which made Bucky let out a cry and grab onto Steve’s arms, which were holding onto Bucky’s hips with a bruising grip.  Steve slammed into that spot again and again, moving one of his hands from Bucky’s hips to jerk him off.

“You’re going to get what you asked and feel me all day tomorrow, Bucky,” Steve grunted, feeling himself becoming close.  “You’re not going to be able to sit or stand or do anything without remembering this.  Will that get you hard in the middle of the day?  Just remembering my cock in you?”

“Steve,” Bucky sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his ass, and that was enough to make Steve first to come with a cry, Bucky soon following.

Steve slowly pulled out with a wet noise as his Semen spilled from Bucky’s ass, which was not at all sexy, but neither of them minded.

“I love you,” Bucky said, nuzzling Steve’s neck and ignoring his own sticky semen on both of them.

That caught Steve by surprise, but he smiled and placed a gentle kiss on Bucky’s temple.  “I love you, too,” he replied, blocking out the little voice in the back of his mind that wondered if Bucky would feel the same when he was back.  This was easily one of the greater moments of his life, and Bucky with amnesia or not, Steve wasn’t about to ruin that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As normal, tell me about any typos, please!


	4. Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer turns to fall, and Steve is scared.

The heat died down and the leaves began to turn brown, and that was his excuse for not telling him.  Pumpkin flavored pies and cakes and cookies and coffees flooded the bakery starting October first, and that made fall the most popular time for the bakery.

Steve and Bucky were both certainly more intimate then they had ever been.  While they continued to have their occasional morning jogs before the bakery opened, more often than not the jogging would be replaced by lazily and sleepily fucking. 

Natasha would ask Steve if he had told Bucky the story of everything every time they went out for coffee, and she always gave him a disappointed look at his somber ‘no’.  He kept trying to tell Bucky everything, he really did!  But between the seasons changing and having sex and occasionally baking, there was no time for telling him any of that.  Honest.  He wasn’t putting it off or anything, that wouldn’t be fair to Bucky.  Besides, if Bucky wanted to know, he could just ask, right?  Right. 

But then there were times like this were Bucky was sleeping in Steve’s arms, his hot breath fanning out on Steve’s neck, that Steve felt sorry for him.  Bucky was lost and didn’t know much about his past, and Steve was keeping everything from him because he was a selfish bastard.  He wanted to tell Bucky, but he couldn’t.

Steve got up and went down to the bakery before even Bucky was awake, needing to think.  Like Natasha had pointed out months ago, it might not even work if he told Bucky everything.  But frankly, Steve was terrified.  He couldn’t have his heart broken again.

He and Peggy hadn’t seen each other since he crashed the plane.  She talked about dancing and then he was sent home before he could so much as kiss her one last time or have a proper goodbye.  That had been hard enough, but now he really couldn’t have Bucky leaving him.

And, okay, maybe he wasn’t completely selfish.  It was nice to see Bucky not having to worry about money or anything.  Not that he’d have to worry about it now.  Nah, he’d have a great life now… ok, alright, yeah, no, he was just selfish and terrified.

He had been vaguely aware of the actual pie he was making, and he hoped the pie would be alright and edible, but having a miniature-life crisis at six in the morning was more important than making a customer happy, right?

Steve felt arms around his waist and a head on his shoulder, and Steve wiped his hands on his apron. 

“I thought you had gotten up and left me forever.  Haven’t woken up alone since I got here,” Bucky mumbled, still in his pajamas and eyes half-closed from sleep.  “The bed’s cold without you.”

"Sorry,” Steve replied, turning to hug Bucky.  “You don’t have to worry about me leaving you anytime soon, though.  I just needed to think alone for a bit.”

“About me?” Bucky asked, stepping out of Steve’s arms and bee lining towards the coffee machine. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Bucky.”

“Feed me.  Fuck me.  Keep me warm.  Bake that pie you’re making right now so I can have a slice for breakfast.”

“Mm, yeah, I have a feeling I’m going to have to trash this one; I don’t really remember making it.  I mean, I do, but I was lost in thought, I guess.  I probably used salt instead of sugar or something.”

“All the better reason to bake it.  You know, so we can see if you’re better at baking when you aren’t thinking about it or not,” Bucky replied, switching on the oven.

“We can’t have pie for breakfast, Bucky.”

“Why not?”

 That was reason enough for Steve and the two of them ate the entire cherry pie for breakfast.

\------

The rest of the month passed quickly as the shop filled with pumpkin-flavored items, and then it was Halloween.  Fake spiders dangled from the ceiling, little kids dressed as princesses and Batman were in and out of the bakery all day, and Bruce had made sugar cookies in the shapes of Halloween-related things like spiders and bats, which they just handed out to any little kid that wandered in there. 

All of them just wore plain superhero tees as their costume: Steve was Superman, Bucky was Batman, Natasha as Spiderman, Thor as the Flash, Bruce as the Green Lantern to match Hulk, and Clint as the Wonder Woman (initially, the Wonder Woman shirt had been for Natasha, but she had snatched the other shirt from Clint’s hand when he meant to hand over what should’ve been hers.  He went to complain, she gave him a cold look, and he shut up.)   The day was finished with a scary movie marathon in Natasha and Clint’s apartment, and October was over just like that.

In the beginning of November, Bucky got sick.  The difference between Bucky and Steve being sick was this: on the rare occasion when Steve was sick, he liked to get up and exercise and work around the house and try to convince his body that he was feeling fine.  But when Bucky was sick, he did what any other sick person would do, which was to sleep and not leave the bed and be taken care of.  Steve was a dream when it came to taking care of others, though.  He’d sneak quietly around the house, make soup, give you medicine exactly when it was time for a new dosage, and his body was like a furnace which made it great to cuddle up to.

Bucky was laying on the floor by the toilet, hugging his stomach and debating if he should crawl back to bed, when he felt Steve gently pick him up and put him in bed so Bucky wouldn’t have to move at all.

"Aren’t you worried about getting sick?” Bucky asked, throat hoarse, once Steve had pressed up behind him and was holding him close.

“Nah.  I don’t get sick that much anymore.  I was sick every week as a kid, and now I’m in the clear.”

“Tell me more about when we were kids?” Bucky asked, and Steve froze.  This was his opportunity to tell Bucky everything ever, but… Bucky surely couldn’t regain his memory when he was sick, right?  That would just make it worse or something.

“Sleep,” Steve said instead, getting back out of bed, grabbing his pack of cigarettes, and heading towards the fire escape, where he sat until he heard Bucky throwing up his guts inside again, so he smushed the cigarette and went back inside.

“Shower before you cuddle me,” Bucky demanded as Steve stepped into the bathroom to flush the toilet for the pitiful man on the floor.  “You’re gonna smell like smoke.”

"I’ll shower with you,” Steve said, plugging the tub and turning the water on.  “Because you, you dope, smell like vomit, which isn’t much better than smelling like smoke.”

He helped Bucky strip and get into the tub before doing so himself.  They adjusted themselves so the shower head was turned on and Bucky was sitting between Steve’s legs, tempted to fall asleep there in the water.

Steve shampooed Bucky’s hair and the sick man leaned into his touch, letting out a low noise from the back of his throat that made Bucky embarrassed and Steve’s cock twitch. 

“You have magic fingers,” Bucky said.  Steve pushed on his back so Bucky leaned forward the water from the shower head rinsing the suds from his hair.

“Don’t you know it,” Steve replied, which got him a half-hearted punch in the arm. 

“Cheeky asshole,” Bucky laughed.  The laughing, though, turned into coughing, which led to him leaning out of the tub and over the toilet to dry-heave before settling back into Steve’s arms.  “False alarm,” he mumbled.

“I should really get you to a doctor,” Steve said, pressing his face into Bucky’s neck.

“You’re my doctor,” Bucky replied.  “Doctor Rogers.”

“Mm, cute, but you seriously need a doctor,” Steve replied.  “You didn’t like going to the doctor’s back then, either.”

“You still never told me about us as kids earlier,” Bucky said, and Steve stood up and got out of the tub. 

“We’re all clean, dry off and get in bed.”

“But-“

“Brush your teeth and go get in bed,” Steve said again, and Bucky obliged. 

Once they were back in bed, Bucky rolled out of Steve’s arms to stare at the ceiling.  “What was wrong with us when we were kids?  Did I murder people back then, too?  Why do you keep avoiding the subject?  You tell me basic stuff, but you won’t just talk.  Why?”

Steve sighed and shook his head.  “I’m scared, Buck,” he quietly replied.  “I don’t want you to leave me if you suddenly remember everything, or you remember that you are absolutely repulsed by the thought of being with a man, or that you could never like me romantically.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Bucky replied, turning to look at Steve.  “That’s never gonna happen.”

“You don’t know that,” Steve pointed out.  “That’s the scary thing.  You don’t know, well, anything.”

He crossed his arms and turned to look him in the eye.  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d be pissed that you just said that.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he replied.  “Can we just talk about this when you’re feeling better?” Steve asked, and Bucky sighed and nodded, though he didn’t crawl back into Steve’s arms.

“This isn’t really your decision, you know,” Bucky said after a while of both of them looking at the dark ceiling in silence.  “It’s my memory we’re talking about, not yours.  If I want to know everything and maybe get my memory back, you should be supportive and man up and tell me.”

“Yeah, but-“ Steve was cut off by Bucky grabbing the bucket Steve had placed next to the bed and he sat up to rub his hand on Bucky’s back as he vomited. 

“Tomorrow.  We’ll talk tomorrow.”

\------

Steve didn’t want to get out of bed the next morning once his alarm started blasting, let alone dwell on the past with Bucky.  The honeymoon stage of Bucky being back in his life was over, and now depression was crawling over him again.  The thing with baking pies was that it made him feel good temporarily, but it was the getting motivation to get out of bed beforehand that was killer, and so was the aftermath once he had baked thirty pies and was being told to slow down.

He curled up and pressed his face to Bucky’s arm instead, wanting to wrap himself in Bucky’s arms until everything was alright.  Once Bucky did wake up, he started the morning by saying, “Again, you shouldn’t be this close, you could get sick,” followed by gathering Steve in his arms when Steve gave him a pitiful look and Bucky realized what was wrong.

“I need to at least get up to shower and get the pies ready to bake so Thor can take over,” Steve replied.  “Be here when I get back?”

Bucky nodded, and with not much choice, Steve took a half-assed shower and dragged himself downstairs, everything feeling like it was going in slow-motion.  He baked and baked until the sun came up and the shop opened.  People began coming in as soon as the first pie and Bruce special (today it was snickerdoodes) were out of the oven, and everyone was happy and bustling around him, leaving Steve to feel like he was stuck in a dark fishbowl, forced to watch everyone carry on like it was the best day of their lives.  Nobody asked what was wrong with the baker, and Steve tried to keep away from people until he told Thor to cover for him.  He then dragged himself back upstairs and collapsed back in bed, kicking off his pants before Bucky pulled him close again.

“How’d it go?” Bucky asked, and Steve pulled his pillow back under his head and shut his eyes.

“M’tired.  Did you throw up?”

“Once,” Bucky replied.  “I’ll clean out the bucket in a bit, alright?”

“Don’t bother,” Steve replied.  “I can get it.”

“You don’t have to be a hero all the time, Steve.  I can wash out a bucket every now and then.  You, on the other hand, will stay in this bed with me until we’re both feeling better, alright?”

Steve nodded and, for the first time he’d gotten back, Bucky curled up behind Steve and held the older man until they were both asleep.

\------

Steve drifted in and out of his dark place for a while, which made it hard to get things done.  But Bucky got better and helped to push Steve to do things he needed to, and Steve was grateful for that.

Thanksgiving week was like Christmas week the previous year: the bakery was stuffed with pumpkin flavored sweets and people bought them before you could blink an eye, which left Steve and Bucky with not much of a Thanksgiving dinner.  None of them had wanted to even bother with the grocery store on Thanksgiving, knowing that everything needed for a traditional meal would already be gone.  So instead, the bakery gang ended up back at Clint and Natasha’s place.   Steve baked up a couple of pies, and that mixed beer, frozen peas and corn, buttered noodles, and chicken nuggets in the shape of dinosaurs that they had for dinner. 

They ate while watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade (they talked briefly about ditching dinner and running to see the parade in person, but they all then decided that that would be too much work and it was too cold out), they talked and drank until everyone but Steve was mildly drunk, Steve and Natasha smoked on the fire escape for a little while, they cleaned up dinner, and then they went home.  It was anticlimactic, but it was nice.

“Tell me,” Bucky said once they were lying in bed.  “Tell me everything about our past.  No excuses this time, Steve.”

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face with a sigh.  He’d decided he’d wait until Bucky directly asked him about their past, and now he was.  No hiding now.  “Where do you want to start?”

“When you first met me.”

“I was getting the living shit beat out of me the minute I got to the orphanage,” Steve replied.  “I guess I said something that someone didn’t particularly like.  I did that a lot.  You beat them up for beating me up, took me to get an ice pack for my face.  We all got in a lot of trouble for the fight, but we got in trouble a lot, too.  I got to room with you after that.  You became like my caretaker, I guess, even though I’m older than you.  We grew up, watched our friends all get adopted while we stayed there.  I left when I was eighteen, you joined me a little while later.”

“What about school?” Bucky asked.

“You were good at science and math, and I was good at history and art. We’d help each other.  Oh, sports, too.  You were good at gym, and I had to sit on the sidelines most weeks.”

“How’d you do that, anyway?  Overcome asthma?”

Steve shrugged.  “It just happened, I guess.  I got big and strong and everything kind of stopped for me and I turned into a perfectly healthy guy.”

“More.  Tell me more.  Our parents?”

“Your dad was a soldier and you went around military bases with him until he died, and they dumped you in Manhattan.  Your mom, I don’t know.  My dad died before I was alive, my mom got really sick and died.”

“Did you love me back then?”

This question caught Steve off guard.  He had felt _something_ back then, that’s for sure, but those thoughts had always been quickly pushed away and ignored out of fear of rejection or discrimination from the nuns that ran their orphanage and fear of giving everyone else yet another reason to beat him up.  “I guess so?  I dunno?” He finally replied.

“Not a very sure answer there,” Bucky teased, and Steve explained, which shut Bucky up. 

Steve explained the foods they ate, favorite places to go, friends and enemies, Steve’s biggest fights, and the worst time he had been sick after that.  “Is any of this ringing a bell?”

Bucky shook his head sadly and let out a sigh.  “Should we stop now?  It’s not gonna work, Steve.  Your fucking wish came true.  It just feels like I’m being read a bedtime story, y’know?  Poor little orphans going on adventures and picking fights.  That's all story shit.”

“You’ll remember sometime,” Steve replied, rolling Bucky into his arms, and Bucky snuggled back against him.

“You know, at this point, I’m beginning to doubt even that.”  And while Steve didn’t say anything, he couldn’t help but agree.

“You know, I’ve really lucked out, haven’t I?” Steve asked after a while.  “I got you back when you were both supposed to be, well, dead.  I got a nice calm job in my city with nice people and, sure, I’m battling my own monsters, but that’s… It’s worth it.  And I mean, it’s not just me specifically that’s lucked out because you’re the one that has a good home now, but you get the point.  I’m almost tempted to take this a sign that I should just stop believing in death.  It’s all an illusion and everyone that dies will come back, right?  Is that what’s going on here?”

“I think that if you do that, you’ll be very disappointed,” Bucky said, reaching to grab Steve’s hand. 

Bucky was right, of course, like there had ever even been a chance that there was no death in the first place. .  If there was no death, Steve’s parents never would have died, and he never would have ended up in the orphanage with Bucky.  Granted, he maybe would have had a little happier childhood where his mom was the one tucking him in bed and saying goodnight rather than a kid younger than him who was also a good six inches taller, but he never would have been able to fall in love with that younger kid, either.  Not to mention that if there was no death, there’d be an even more overpopulated earth and too many bad guys running around hurting people.  That wouldn’t do for Steve; he didn’t like bullies, he didn’t care where they were from.  Some people needed to die is all. 

Or maybe Steve would be happier with no death.  It’d be him alone that would be happy, which would be selfish and not work for every person on Earth, but maybe he’d at least be happier all the time rather than have depression be a burden on the back of his mind at all times.  Not that it mattered, anyway.  Death was still a thing, whether Steve liked it or not.

“You’re doing it again,” Bucky murmured sleepily.

“Doing what?”

“Overthinking.  You get all stiff and you grab my hand too tight when you overthink.”

Steve dropped Bucky’s hand and fought relaxed.  “Sorry.”

“Go to sleep, alright?  You can think in the morning or something.  Not now.  Tired ow,” Bucky said, and Steve did as told.

\------

On one brisk morning, Natasha showed up in the kitchen bright and early with Steve and Bucky.  The minute Thor was there, Natasha announced that she and Steve were going out for a bit.

“Get your keys, we’re taking your bike,” she said, pulling on her own brown leather jacket while Steve went to find his. 

“Where are we even going?” Steve asked once he was back down. 

“Central Park.  It’s pretty in the fall.”  Steve nodded and, once Natasha was sitting behind him, he took off.  They arrived at Central Park not long later, and parking the motorcycle seemed to take as long as the actual ride itself did.  The reds and browns of the park surrounded them once they began walking around the little path.

“Why are we here?” He asked.

“How’ve you been doing?”

“Me?  I’ve been doing alright.  What about you?”

Natasha shook her head.    “We’re not here to talk about me.  I meant depression-wise.  Before Barnes showed up, if you weren’t doing well, you’d show up on my couch in the middle of the night if you had to.  Now there are days where you’re out of it, but some days I can’t tell, you know?  Especially after your thing in the kitchen a few months back.  I’m worried about you.”

“I haven’t thought about… doing anything stupid in a long time, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Steve replied slowly.  “I have my bad days, but they’re not as frequent, I guess.  Nightmares, too.  I’m getting better.”

“You know that my couch is still open for you whenever you want, right?” She asked.  “I mean, you know, if you don’t want to talk to Barnes or whatever.  We just want you to be alright.”

"I’ll be fine,” Steve insisted.  “I’m getting better I think.  I had a few bad days after the kitchen where I wasn’t having great thoughts, but besides the occasional nightmare, I’m getting better.  You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Steve, when we started out at the bakery, you showed up the first night asking to sleep on my couch.  And again the night after that.  And the night after that.  And then Clint and I heard you screaming at midnight so we made you come down that night, too.  You have to forgive me for worrying.  But Barnes is taking care of you, right?  He’s being good?”

“Bucky’s…  If I didn’t have Bucky, I don’t know where I’d be, if I’d be here at all.  It’s still weird for him to not remember anything, but I need him here with me.  He’s taking care of me.  It’s a lot warmer between us now than it was when he showed up on the bakery doorstep.  If it was still as awkward as those first couple nights with him, I’m not sure what would’ve happened.  And no, really, what about you?”

She gave him an annoyed look, but replied with, “I’m fine.  _She_ ’s going to be in town in a couple of days and, no, you can’t meet her.  It’s going to be nice.”

"How long will she be in town?”

“Not long enough,” she joked with a sad smile, and the two of them walked around the park, taking in the nice fall day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting as much as I should? One chapter left!


	5. End of Another Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of the year, end of the fic. Thanks for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for slurs

It began snowing the minute the clock switched over from November 31st to December 1st.  Lakes froze over, breath was visibly seen in the air, and it was nearing a year since Bucky had returned to Steve.  Peppermint and gingerbread things joined the menu, and the bakery gradually turned back into the winter wonderland with fake trees, fake snow, and warm candles lighting up the bakery.  Everyone got the special and excited mood that came with the Christmas season, and the bakery was soon flooded with people humming ten different Christmas songs and occasionally wearing stupid elf or Santa hats. 

Steve surprised Bucky with ice skates on one day off, so the pair both bundled up drove for one freezing hour on Steve’s bike to a lake after deciding Rockefeller Center would be too crowded. 

Bucky wobbled on the ice and fell on his ass three times before Steve looped his arm through Bucky’s, pulling Bucky along while he glided across the ice enough for the both of them.  Bucky pulled Steve onto the ice with him a few times, though fortunately neither one of them got too hurt.

“If my ass hurts now, I can’t wait to see how much more it will by the time you’re done with me later,” Bucky teased after the two of them were sent sprawling across the ice.

“Smooth, Buck,” Steve replied, though he grinned himself and picked Bucky back up. 

After a nice streak of not falling for a few minutes, Steve picked up a good pace and let go of Bucky’s arm so Bucky was left to fend for himself.  And Bucky did for a minute, but then the ice split below him and sent Bucky into the freezing waters below. 

“Bucky!” Steve cried, scrambling to get to the hole that had swallowed him up.  He grabbed one of Bucky’s flailing arms and pulled him back out of the ice, and Bucky immediately pinned Steve down, trembling and dripping icy water onto the man below him. 

Steve had about two seconds to react until Bucky fell down on top of Steve, scrambling to sit back up and slide away from Steve.

“What’s wrong?  Are you okay?” Steve asked, ignoring the other families on the lake that were gathering around them.  Bucky took deep, shuddering breaths and wrapped his arms around Steve, pressing his wet face into Steve’s neck.

“I’m so sorry!  I’m so _sorry_ , I'm don- I... I _forgot_ ,” Bucky almost yelled, now crying, and Steve let out a soft ‘oh my god’.  He stood up and carried Bucky in his arms to the motorcycle so they’d have a more stable ground rather than the ice.  He sat on the curb with Bucky in his lap like he was a toddler, still inhaling Steve’s neck, and the two of them hugged tightly as Bucky murmured the occasional “I’m sorry.”

Steve finally got Bucky out of his lap and handed Bucky his coat.  Steve was freezing now, but Bucky was cold and wet and having a breakdown, so sharing a coat was the least Steve could do. 

“Think you can make it home on the bike, or should we wait it out in the cold here?” Steve asked.

Bucky, who was now curled up in a cold ball, shakily stood and got on the edge of the bike.  He relaxed into Steve’s sweater as Steve took off, and if the ride was a cold one going up to the lake, it was an even colder one on the ride back.

Once they were back, Steve drew steaming water in the bath.  He helped the shivering younger man out of his clothes and into the tub, Bucky hissing as the hot water met his freezing body.  Steve joined him and pulled Bucky between his legs, like he had when Bucky was sick what felt like a lifetime ago, and Bucky leaned against him.

“What do you remember?” Steve asked in a soft voice.

“Everything,” Bucky replied, twisting uncomfortably to press his face to Steve’s shoulder again.  “I fell in the water and I guess it triggered it, just like how it had taken my memory away.  I remember you and dad and our childhood and friends and leaving for war and… I’m so sorry, Steve!  I’m so sorry!”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Steve insisted, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist.  “You didn’t ask to have your memory taken.  It’s fine to feel scared, but you’re going to be fine in the end, Buck.  I’ve got you.  You’re going to be just fine.”

“But I forgot you, Steve!  I forgot you and I ran off to become a murderer of all things.  Do you realize how many lives I’ve taken?”

“But you didn’t mean to.  I mean, you meant to, but it wasn’t you!  You’re Bucky Barnes, and he was just a soldier.  He didn’t know any better than to kill anyone or do anything.  You came to the bakery and you were normal in a surprisingly quick amount of time.  You just needed to actually meet someone that wasn’t trying to make you into an assassin, and you were fine.  You still are fine.  Just don’t blame yourself, Bucky.”

“How could you live with me?” Bucky asked.  “I didn’t remember you.  You should have just told SHIELD that you couldn’t take me.”

“Because if I had told SHIELD that, that would have been a lie.  And I’m glad I did, because now I have you back in my arms,” Steve said.  “I couldn’t live without you, Buck.  I tried for a long time and I was starting to numb it out, but I still wasn’t anywhere near fine.  But you got SHIELD to trust you, or at least not wanna watch us fuck, and you’ve kept me alive, and you’re still alive, and we’re going to be fine.  You and I got along fantastically before you lost your memory, and we got along just as well when you didn’t have your memory.  If nothing else, at least you have me.  And I’m not saying that I’ll be enough, but at least we can keep each other alive.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have been there for you,” Bucky murmured as Steve began shampooing his hair.  “I left and messed you up, and then you had to leave Peggy and make it out in Brooklyn.  And now you’re just sitting here, washing my hair like everything’s fine!  I’m sorry, Steve.”

Steve shrugged.  “You were gone, but that’s making me more appreciative to have you back.  I’ve never loved you as much as I do now.”

He stilled, and Steve winced.  Maybe Bucky had thought it over and was going to get out of the bath and call it good, but he didn’t.  “Why do you still love me?  Weren’t you afraid to have me back?”

“Only because I thought you wouldn’t want me, dummy,” Steve said with a sad smile, pushing Bucky forwards to rinse the shampoo, just like they had done when he had been sick.  “In any way you want me, I’ll be yours, alright?”

“I still want you like this,” Bucky replied.  “If there’s anything that the other Bucky did right was fall for you.  You don’t have to worry about me leaving anytime soon.”

Steve finished washing Bucky off, one weight being lifted off his shoulders, and he followed Bucky into bed.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said again, Steve holding him tight, and Steve shook his head.

“Please don’t be,” he replied, and while neither one of them slept that night, they were together.

\------

If the bakery at Christmastime was lovely before, now it was fantastic for Steve.  He didn’t have the worry of if he should or shouldn’t tell Bucky everything stuck in his mind, Bucky was still with him even though he knew everything about their past, and the thin layer of depression was almost completely gone for the first time in ages.  This year, maybe he’d even be able to get to a grocery store to get the fixings for an official Christmas dinner, too. 

Bucky wasn’t in a great mindset now, but under Steve’s constant eye, he wasn’t too worried about Bucky killing himself yet.  He wouldn’t let him.  Until Bucky was back to his normal self, he wasn’t going to be left alone for one second.  He managed to get Bucky out of bed fairly easily, however, and even though Bucky was exhausted, he insisted on baking. 

“Natasha, Clint, Thor, this is Bucky,” Steve said the next morning once everyone was in the bakery.

“Didn’t we cover that a year ago?” Clint asked.

“But I didn’t have my memory back then,” Bucky replied, and a shocked silence followed that.

“Well, then, I’m pleased to officially meet you,” Clint replied, slinging an arm over Bucky’s shoulder.  “Does it feel good to be back?”

“Feels pretty damn great, yeah,” Bucky replied, stepping out of Clint’s arm and heading for his own mixer.  “Let’s just hope that I can still make cupcakes now – baking wasn’t my thing before.”

“How many have you killed?” Thor asked, and everyone in the bakery went silent again.

“Er, Thor, just because he has his memory back…” Clint began, but Bucky held up a hand to stop him.

“It’s fine,” Bucky said, expression hard.  “I think I got through twenty, maybe thirty people before I was sent back to America.  Three of them were under the age of ten.”

“Bucky,” Steve said gently, though he didn’t say anything to follow that.

“I’m fine.  I’ll be fine.  Let’s just bake, huh?”  And so the gang baked until the customers were full and happy, Bucky excusing himself from the kitchen briefly when Fury came to let Fury know he was back to normal.  Fury had said that SHIELD would be in touch and that paperwork needed to be filed out, because even though SHIELD had just sort of left Bucky with Steve and called it good, Bucky was still technically SHIELD’s ‘property’ while he was still in a murderer’s mindset.  But now he was a free man again, and there was no going back anytime soon.

\------

“Do you still forgive me?” Steve asked a couple of nights later while the two laid in bed.

Bucky let out a sleepy “Mm?” and twisted in Steve’s arms to face him.  “Probably.  For what?”

 “For letting you fall off the train.  When you didn’t remember me, you said that you forgave me then.  What about now?  Do you still forgive me now?”

Bucky frowned and considered it.  On one hand, Steve had been the one to lead the mission, but Steve hadn’t woken up that morning with the intention of killing Bucky.  He hadn’t pushed Bucky out of the train, either, nor did he rejoice and have a great time once Bucky was dead, or at least supposedly dead.  The only connection Steve had to Bucky and the train was that it was his mission, but not the events within this mission.  He sighed and sat up, and Steve did the same.

“The only way I’d not forgive you is if you wanted to kill me.  And you didn’t.  Right?”

“Bucky…”

“Do you forgive me for losing my memory?”

Steve gave Bucky a confused look.  “But that wasn’t your fault.”

“Exactly, asshole!  How many times have we had this conversation in the last year, Steve?  Losing my memory wasn’t my fault, and me falling off the train wasn’t your fault.  You need to calm down and let it go.  I’m back now, and I’m not going to leave you again anytime soon.  Hopefully, you won’t leave me, either.  We’re both going to be completely fine.”

Steve let out a sigh of relief and nodded, though that didn’t cure the knot in his chest; Steve still believed that he was responsible for Bucky’s death, but Bucky himself saying that he forgave Steve did make him feel much better.  Like his depression, the guilt of Bucky’s death would never fully disappear, but it could lessen.

“Now why didn’t you tell me that you were queer?” Bucky asked.

Now it was Steve’s turn to consider the question.  They had both grown up in a time where liking the same sex wasn’t widely accepted.  He had known that Bucky was accepting, but that didn’t make him any less scared back then.  If Bucky found out, surely it only would have been a matter of time before Sister Betty or Sister Annette found out, right?  And if not, what if Bucky had treated Steve differently?  No more cuddling under blankets to keep warm, or being able to lounge without shirts on. Or what if Steve had assumed wrong, and worst of all, Bucky wasn’t accepting and just completely blocked Steve out of his life?

“I was scared, I guess,” Steve said after a long silence.  “And why didn’t you tell me?”

“’Cause I’m not,” Bucky replied, and Steve stiffened.  “Don’t get all upset: I like women a lot, but you’re an exception.  I feel towards you like I would love a woman, but I don’t sexually, or romantically, for that matter, like another man.  Never have.  Went to rallies when we were kids because the least I could do was show support.  Does that make sense?”

Steve nodded, but he swallowed a lump in his throat.  Bucky being attracted to him wouldn’t be enough to keep him there forever, right?  There was more to it than just sex, for sure, and what if Bucky just couldn’t be romantically involved with another man?  He couldn’t lose Bucky, not again, and he really didn’t want their relationship, both platonic and romantic, to end with a break up that would lead to Steve getting in a really low place again and never seeing Bucky again.

“You’re not gonna, like… You’re not gonna abandon me just cause I’m a guy, right?” Steve asked in a small voice.  “I mean, I know you just said you love me like you would a woman, but that’s not gonna change, is it?  You’re not gonna realize that you’re not attracted to any man at all ever and leave me, right?  Or at least realize that what you feel is actually purely platonic?” There was another silence before Bucky shook his head. 

“Steve, you keep me alive.  You have since we were kids, you have since I was delivered on the bakery’s front stoop.  I need you more than I could ever need a female, and I love you, and this is slightly unrelated but I’m not going to lie, sex with you is pretty great, and I’ve only been the bottom.  I’m not going to leave you just because you don’t have breasts or whatever.  Hell, you could be a cactus right now and I wouldn’t care.  What happened to the Steve I used to know?  That Steve never worried about anything ever.  He just did as he wanted whenever he wanted without worrying about the consequences, and life always seemed to go his way.  Why does this Steve worry so much?”

“Because this Steve saw his best friend roll off a train,” Steve replied, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“There you go with the train again!  Enough about the goddamn train!  I’m alright!  I’m alive and I’m happy and I’m swell and I love you and the train mishap is over with!  You need to let that go and stop blaming yourself for it, I swear to God, Steve.  You worry too much!  We need to, like, get you high or something.  I could bake you brownies with weed on the inside and you wouldn’t know until you took your first bite.”

“I’m not getting high, Bucky,” Steve said, rolling his eyes now, and Bucky shrugged.

“Seems like you could use it.  We’ll see.  Isn’t it legal here, anyway?”

“Colorado,” Steve corrected.

Bucky nodded laid back down, pulling Steve with him to roll back into Steve’s arms, craning his neck as Steve pressed his lips to the space the shoulder and neck met.  “We’re getting on a plane first thing tomorrow to Colorado.  Get you high.” 

“Bucky…” Steve warned, moving his lips away.

“Is gay marriage legal there, too?  We can get high and then get hitched.  Maybe that’ll convince you I won’t leave, either.”

“Bucky.”

“Aw, don’t act like you’re not even considering the idea.”

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

\------

Steve got in another dark mood before Christmas came around, and all the reds and greens and cheerfulness turned awful. He had low days a lot still, sure, but this was back to teetering on the edge of just being low and hitting rock bottom, the edge between being safe and wanting to do something dangerous.  He couldn’t bear to get out of bed, much less do anything else.  He responded to Bucky’s chatter with grunts and short answers until Bucky got fed up and stopped talking to Steve.  The same went for Natasha, Clint, and Thor, though all their tolerance towards him didn’t last as long as Bucky’s.  It didn’t take long for Steve to finish up baking for the day, told everyone to say they were out of them for the day once his current pies were gone, and retreated back upstairs and into bed. 

He fought to block out his own thoughts before getting back up to watch TV, mind barely registering what was happening on the screen.

“What the hell is up with you?” Bucky said from the doorway an hour later, an I Love Lucy marathon on the screen in front of Steve.  “I swear to god if you’re just acting like this because you missed a few episodes of – are you alright?”

Steve nodded and tried to give a convincing smile.  “Just tired.”

“Like that really works when people say that, Steve,” Bucky scoffed.  He sat next to Steve and flicked the TV off.  “You wanna tell me really what’s up, or are you just in a bad place?”

“Just down.  I just…”  Steve took a deep breath and shut his eyes.  “Why are you even with me, Bucky?  You’re tall and handsome and fantastic and can do better.  I’m just _me_.”

Bucky scratched his chin with one hand and took Steve’s hand with the other.  “I don’t really have a choice.  I was sent back to America and you were the one to claim me,” he teased, but he grew more serious at the pathetic look Steve gave him.  “We’ve been close since we met, Steve.  I’m not going to just leave you now that I remember you and we’re happy again.  You mean the world to me, and you shouldn’t have to second guess yourself all the time.”

“I know I shouldn’t have to, but I do.  It’s just that some days I’m happy with myself, most days I despise myself so much, and if I feel that way about myself, I want to know how you feel about me.”

“I think you’re amazing,” Bucky replied.  “I don’t know how to show you that you’re wonderful all the time, but you are.  You’re so incredible, and you’re my best friend, and I love you, and I want to make you better so you never feel bad again, but I don’t know how to fix you.  Do you want me to, like, call Peggy and make her come to America?  She could slap you back to normal, right?  If not slapping you back by batting her eyelashes, the woman’s intimidating.  She could just give you a look and every bad feeling would run screaming, right?” 

Steve shook his head, though he did crack a small smile.  “That’s not how it works.  It doesn’t just disappear because I can see Peggy again or not, even if she is intimidating as hell.  It’ll just kind of always be there at the back of my mind, whether I like it or not.”

He nodded with a sigh.  “I know.  At the very least, can you at least go bake with us for a little longer?  I want you to get your mind off of everything, even if you don’t have motivation to go it.  If nothing else, at least come down and sit at a booth or something to read or eavesdrop or talk to customers or drink coffee or whatever you want to do; I want you in my line of sight until you’re back to normal.  It’s not that I don’t trust you, ‘cause I do, I just want to make sure that nothing happens to you, just like how you constantly want an eye on me now.  Can you do that?  Please, for me?”

“I’m not going to do anything bad,” Steve insisted.  “I’m just really not feeling like myself is all.  Can I go to bed?”

“Please just come downstairs.  You can sit in a booth.  Last time I left you alone when you were low, you ended up on the roof.”  Steve opened his mouth to interject and say that he wsn’t going to do anything then, either, but Bucky shook his head.  “It’s just a couple of hours downstairs.  Besides, as shit as you feel, you probably owe the gang an apology for getting short with them.  Just come with me, I don’t want to leave you alone at a time like this, whether you want to do something stupid or not.  I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

 Steve felt the weight on his heart lighten a little bit as he pressed his nose into Bucky’s neck, holding him tight.  As much as his life felt like he was watching everything behind a sheet of glass sometimes, Bucky could help him out and make him feel a little bit like Steve again.  “You’re a good boyfriend, you know that?”

“I try,” he replied.

\------

This year, the pair actually managed to get Christmas things done before actual Christmas.  They bought actual ornaments this year and got to pick out a tree that wasn’t in the very last batch.  They’d also hit they grocery store early so they had actual food rather than boxed macaroni or chicken nuggets.

The fifteenth was also there soon enough, and Bucky was able to have his first meeting with the Howling Commandos now that he was actually Bucky again.

“So you remember me,” Timothy clarified, hovering over his pumpkin pie like a mother bear would with a cub. 

“Clear as day,” Bucky replied.  “I remember all of you and me and Steve and-“

“You know, I don’t get that.  Now Steve… Steve I could see being a fag, Barnes, but not you,” Montgomery interrupted, slurring and holding his drink. Bucky clenched his fist, and frowned.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…”  Montgomery thought for a minute, trying to think of what it actually means.  “It means that Steve’s kinda got that girly look to him, y’know?  Like the… the perfect blond hair and rosy cheeks.  Y’know, kinda like a faggot.”

The rest of the Howling Commandos exchanged looks.  “Hey, Montgomery…” Dum-Dum said, but Bucky raised his hand to stop him.

“And is that a bad thing?” Bucky challenged.

“I mean, it’s not _bad_ , it just makes me wonder about any time either of you saw our dicks.  Like, did you mastur _fuck_!”  Bucky practically dove across the table and punched Montgomery square in the jaw, metal knuckles against normal bone, and Jacques and Jim both quickly pulled Bucky back.  “What the hell was that for?!”

“You were being a piece of shit!” Bucky said.  By this time, Natasha had abandoned the table she was serving to bring Montgomery ice, Steve was running from the kitchen to pull Bucky away from the table, and Clint had abandoned his own slice of pie to see what all the commotion was about.

“What are you doing?” Steve hissed, roughly pulling Bucky away from the table and into the kitchen. 

“He was calling us fags!” Bruce complained, and while Steve scowled at that, he still shook his head.

“Did you ever think of telling him to shut up rather than causing a scene?”

“He was calling you girly and assumed we were jacking off to him and I got pissed, alright?  You know, I was expecting something like a ‘gee, Bucky, thank you for defending our relationship’, not you to get mad at me," he sneered. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Steve said, scrubbing a hand covered in flour over his tired face, and Bucky tossed him a towel to wipe the flour off.   “It’s just that, you know, it’s not exactly great for business or anything when one of the employees punches a paying customer.”

“You can sweet talk him into not saying a word.”

“I have a feeling he doesn’t really want much to do with either of us at this moment.  You need to go apologize and we’ll see if Clint or Nat can talk him into not giving us bad press.  I mean, even if we got bad press, Tony would most likely be able to talk us out of it, but we shouldn’t make him speak out for something he wasn’t a part of, right?”

Bucky nodded and Steve pushed Bucky gently out of the kitchen door.  “Now, go apologize and make amends.”

\------

Montgomery apologized for what he had said as well and said he wouldn’t give Potts’ Pies any bad coverage, though he did say that it’d be best for both him and the restaurant if he skipped the next couple drinking nights to give both himself and Bucky time to cool off.

“You punched a guy in the face over our relationship,” Steve murmured that night, Bucky facing Steve with their legs and hands intertwined. “I mean, you know, he was my friend, but he was being an asshole, so thank you.”

Bucky smiled.  “I’d do it again,” he replied, leaning in to peck Steve lightly.  “I’d punch out a thousand guys for you if you wanted me to.”  Grinning, Steve looped his arms around Bucky’s neck to pull his lips to his own again.  They stayed like that for a while before Bucky reached down to loosely grip Steve’s cock, messily stroking it.  Steve bucked his hips slightly as his erection grew more prominent, letting out breathy moans.

“Can I…” Bucky wet his lips, pushing down both Steve’s pants and underpants a little more, “Can I try being on top?  I wanna feel you around me.”

Steve nodded almost frantically, and he dug around for lube while Bucky pushed down his own pants.  Bucky took the lube from Steve and popped the lid, but Steve shook his head

"Gonna go down on you first,” he said, sliding down Bucky’s body, Bucky now using the cheesy line about how Christmas must’ve come early.  He pushed his lips against Bucky’s head and Bucky shivered as Steve slowly took all of Bucky’s cock into his mouth, his nose brushing against Bucky’s hair.  That was another thing that came when he went from a little sick weakling to a near-god: no gag reflex.  He slid up and down Bucky , lips stretched thin, occasionally sucking hard so Bucky would shout and thrust into Steve’s mouth.  Bucky pushed Steve away after a while, holding the base of his cock so he wouldn’t come, feeling painfully hard.

“On your back,” Bucky demanded.  “No, hands and knees.  No, wall.  No, fuck, I don’t care, just get in a position.”

Steve got on his back and Bucky spread the lube on his fingers, sliding in the one finger first finger and barely waiting until he added the second.  “I should open you up with my tongue,” he mumbled, Steve squirming above him.  “I could lick you open until you’re shaking and sobbing and then I could fuck you.  Do you know how many times you can come?  We should test that.” He added a third finger once Steve began squirming around the first two.  “Get a cock ring.  And handcuffs.  Maybe a butt plug, definitely heels and lingerie… And, shit, everything.”

“How much porn – _shit_ – did you even watch before you got to me?” Steve panted, grinning.  “Kinky bastard.”

Bucky replied by removing his fingers and sliding his dick into Steve, which got him a whine.  Bucky’s pace went from slow to brutally fast in what felt like a few seconds.  He found Steve’s prostate after a few minutes and Steve arched his back with a cry as Bucky hit it a several more times before pulling out. 

“Flip over,” Bucky said, and Steve got on his hands and knees.  Bucky slammed back into him in one go, pulling almost fully out again before going back in, and the burn was met with another cry from Steve.  Steve was rubbing his cock at this point, each stroke in time with Bucky’s thrusts.  Bucky changed his angle once, twice, until he hit Steve’s prostate again, and as soon as Bucky bit down on Steve’s shoulder in time with the thrust and his own hand, Steve saw stars as he came all over his hand and sheets.  Bucky pulled out to finish himself once Steve collapsed and his cum covered Steve’s back.  Bucky fell on top of him, the sticky semen smearing on them both now.

“Remind me to top again sometime,” Bucky mumbled, and Steve hummed in agreement.

“Where do we even get all the toys you were talking about?”

Bucky laughed.  “Steve, we live in New York City.  We just have to turn the corner.  But, if we don’t want our coworkers to see us walk into the bakery with a little black bag, then ordering online is our best bet.”

“Get my laptop for me as soon as we wake up,” Steve said.  “I’m not gonna be able to walk for a while.”

\------

The shop closed up at noon on December 23rd, where it would stay closed until after Christmas.  The day before Christmas Eve was spent getting the last of necessities for Christmas dinner, and Stark finally replaced Bucky’s metal arm with a new and improved one. New features included the ability to change the fingers out for knives (“It’d be great for a Wolverine costume!” Tony had insisted) and lasers, neither of which Bucky would be using anytime soon.  Then it was Christmas Eve, where Bucky and Steve spent their day under big sweaters and blankets, watching holiday movies and soaking in each other’s warmth.  Once the sun was down and they had cracked open a bottle of champagne, the power went out again.

“What happened to the power now do you think?” Steve asked, digging around in their kitchen drawer for a flashlight. 

“At least we got what, four, five, movies crammed in before it went out,” Bucky pointed out, letting out a groan as Steve toggled the flashlight switch with no response.  “No batteries?”

“No batteries and it’s pitch black.  Merry fucking Christmas.”  Steve slumped back into the couch next to Bucky.  He rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky pulled the blanket up tight around him, their warm apartment gradually getting cooler.

“We’ll be fine.  We just need to sleep and then it will at least be light enough to open presents or read.  You tired?”

“Not at all.  With just my luck, it’ll start snowing, and then you’ll be sharing your Christmas with the Grinch.  Sorry.”  Steve nuzzled Bucky’s hir.  “Happy first official Christmas in a few years, by the way.  I have a feeling that you didn’t really get a nice Christmas when you were being trained to be the world’s best assassin.”

“Ard you kidding?  It was a Christmas come true.  A dark, cold, shaggy apartment in a terrifying neighborhood without any clue who I was or what anyone was saying.  I knew English and barely any Russian to make it through.  If that’s not a nice Christmas, I don’t know what is,” Bucky replied, voice cold.  “And, you know, nothing like killing people as a Christmas present for both me and them.”

“I didn’t mean to dig up bad memories,” Steve replied, sitting up, and Bucky shrugged.

“I know you didn’t.  But you still asked, and I didn’t mind answering.”

Steve kissed Bucky’s cheek and stood up.  “See if you can find your winter coat,” he demanded, and once both of them were fit with mittens and coats, he took Bucky’s hand in his own and took him to the rooftop.

Bucky’s plants had iced over now, but the rooftop still gave a nice view.  There were stars actually visible above them for once, and the black streets around them were a complete contrast to the bright Times Square and Stark Tower that were lit up in the distance.  Steve pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket and offered one to Bucky, who shook his head with a disgusted look, and Steve shrugged and lit one for himself, letting the warmth of it keep him defrosted.

“Why’d you bring us up here?” Bucky asked, sitting on the edge of the roof, watching the busy street below keep bustling by like it was the middle of the afternoon rather than late at night.

“Beats sitting indoors.  At least I can smoke out here and we can look at stars.”  Steve let out a puff of smoke while reaching to tap on Bucky’s metal arm.  “Does your arm hurt?”

“Nah.  I can shoot lasers out of it now, though, if you ever want me to carve, like, your name in the snow or something.  Better quality than my old one, though; the old one was starting to get all dented.”

“It’s weird holding your metal hand,” Steve replied, killing off the cigarette and lighting a second.  “It’s kind of like holding a, well, hunk of metal, only I’m really attracted to it and it makes me feel all funny to hold this hunk of metal.”

“’All funny’?” Bucky repeated, smirking.  “Do I make your head spin and your knees go weak too, honey?”

“Call me honey again and there won’t be anything left of you to make me do anything,” Steve threatened.  Bucky let out a long laugh. 

“Pet names are out?”

“Doesn’t suit us.  You, y’know, assassin, and we were both soldiers, and we’ve been best friends for twenty years now.  It just sounds weird.”

“Fair point,” Bucky replied.  He took the cigarette from Steve’s fingers and smashed it on the rooftop, which got a whine from Steve.  He laid down and pulled Steve back with him so they could both look at the stars, which was a rare sight to see more than a few in New York City.  There was a cheer from the street below, which led to a few more, and Steve checked his watch. 

“Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

“Merry Christmas, Steve.”

\------

The pair had gotten back into bed at some point during the night, and when they awoke, the apartment was still dark and colder than it was than when they had gone to bed.  They sat back on the couch to open presents, their tree that had been dressed all in lights sitting sadly in front of them.  Bucky got Steve a high class art set, complete with oils and pencils and chalks.  Steve got Bucky a leather jacket to match his own, though Bucky made sure to point out that it wouldn’t make him any less afraid of Steve’s motorcycle (although, admittedly, he had warmed up to the motorcycle quite a bit and didn’t close his eyes for extended periods of time once during the bike ride up to the lake a few weeks back). 

“Considering that our stove and oven doesn’t work, do you think we should call off Christmas dinner with the gang?” Steve asked, and Bucky nodded.

“Not yet, though.  You and I are going to bundle up and walk around New York City to try and find a place that sells coffee.  If our power’s out, we’re still going to have at least a warm Christmas breakfast that I’m actually awake for.”

So they bundled up, and after wandering for upwards of an hour in freezing cold winds, they surprisingly found an open diner on Christmas Day.  They both slid into a booth and each ordered a stack of pancakes and coffee, the warm bakery doing little for their frozen bodies.

“Think it was a bad idea to walk in the cold here?” Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head, hands trembling as he took a sip of his steaming coffee.  “No, because now I’ll actually be awake when we exchange gifts with our friends.  What’s the possibility of getting a generator for our house?  Better, see if Stark can make one?  If he can put lasers in my arm, I wanna see what he can do to a home generator.”

“The power’s gone out twice in a year, we can live,” Steve replied, and Bucky scowled.  “Before you complain about the cold: when it’s cold out, we can cuddle under blankets.  When it’s hot, we can walk around practically naked.”  That shut Bucky back up, and after they both filled up on pancakes, they were back on the cold streets to make their way home.  It started to snow as they walked, which got a disgusted noise from Steve.

“C’mon, Steve, enjoy a white Christmas,” Bucky said, and Steve shook his head.

“It’s cold and wet and all the warm coffee and pancakes were for nothing,” Steve complained.   Bucky sighed and stuck his hand out for a cab, despite Steve’s protests that he’d be fine and he could make it home.

“I’m not going to let you crush my good mood and what remains of yours,” Bucky explained as he pushed Steve towards an open cab door.  “We can afford a taxi, now get in the goddamn cab or I’ll get in it without you.”

Steve gratefully got in, and the cab sped through the fairly empty streets. Their apartment was still dark when they got back, but it wasn’t as bad now that they were at least full of something other than peanut butter sandwiches. As Steve and Bucky walked up the stairs, Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand and yanked him back down and towards Clint and Natasha’s door.

“I’m not going to let you sulk in the apartment all day, either,” Bucky said.  He ran a hand through Steve’s hair and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.  “Now, can we please just go spend Christmas with our friends?” Bucky knocked on the door and Natasha answered, bed hair apparent, despite her being wide awake.  She greeted them both with kisses on the cheek and invited them in their apartment lit with candles everywhere.

“Clint went out to see if he could get gas for the grill.  We’re going to grill our dinner, stuffing and all, unless the power comes back on before then.  It’s not going to work, but we can try, right?”

“How do you even grill dinner rolls?” Steve asked, and she shrugged.

“Clint’s idea, not mine.” 

Clint returned a while later with a tank of gas, and the door was knocked on three times after.  The first knock brought Thor and Jane, the second Bruce and Hulk, and the third Tony and Pepper.  Despite Thor, Tony, and Natasha’s religions not celebrating Christmas, that was the wonderful thing about holidays: it could bring people together.

Tony cleared his throat and stepped back once the Christmas hugs and greetings died down, and he turned to face the whole group.  “Pepper said the power was out here and to come have Christmas at the tower,” he said, and everyone poured into Tony’s limo without a second thought, all thankful that they wouldn’t have to attempt grilling mashed potatoes.

Stark Tower was bigger in person than any of the Potts’ Pies employees had expected.  It stretched upwards for what seemed like miles, and the elevator ride was fast and smooth.  The tower was sleek and modern and had rugs that probably cost hundreds of thousands of dollars and couches that probably cost millions. 

Someone also said, “Welcome back, sir.  Shall I play a selection of Holiday music?” and when everyone but Bruce, Pepper, and Tony jumped, Tony grinned.

“That’s my AI, JARVIS.  Kinda like my butler, only he doesn’t have a body.  He’s just a voice, and a surprisingly good friend considering that he’s a robot,” he explained.

They all sat in his living room, flopped across couches and chairs and Hulk’s head on Bruce’s knee.  Tony babbled about his latest invention with Bruce, Thor and Jane talked about their recent vacation to meet Thor’s less-crazy family in Norway, Clint complained about how he couldn’t find any nearby archery ranges (Tony said he could stop by the tower anytime to use his gym, and he also said he’d try to build Clint specialized arrows that could be used as grappling hooks or boomerangs or whatever he wanted), Natasha talked about her ballet classes, and Bucky and Steve about Bucky remembering everything.  The room was filled with friends and laughter and warmth, and Steve felt completely at home.

“Sure beats last Christmas, huh?” Bucky whispered to Steve, tucked under Steve’s arm and pressed against his side, while Tony talked about how he could potentially make his comic alter ego’s iron man suit a reality.

“Last Christmas was nice, but this actually feels like a holiday,” Steve replied, pressing his lips into Bucky’s hair.

Tony hadn’t been prepared to have people over for dinner, but they made use of what he had.  The results were salmon, mashed potatoes, spinach, rolls, and pie, accompanied by some foreign wine that was the most delicious wine any of them had ever tasted.  They all gathered around the table for an actual dinner together.  Thor was unimpressed by the fish and said so by saying that, where he was from, the salmon were the size of dogs and dogs were the size of a man, while Steve and Bucky were just grateful to be able to eat fish without spending every last dime they had on it.

Dinner was followed by them trekking across the city to see the Rockefeller tree, everyone off in their own little groups, taking in the city.  The tree stood tall above the city, lit up, with crowds of people swarming it.  It felt nicer to see it than when Steve took Bucky last year, and that had to do with the fact that he was full and warm and surrounded by friends.

“I love you,” Steve murmured to Bucky, and with a dopey grin, Bucky kissed him, their teeth bumping together.

“Love you, too,” he replied, and their Christmas finished peacefully.

\------

With Christmas finished and the power on, it wasn’t very long until it was New Year’s.  The night had started off with them at a bar, talking and drinking, the crowd loud around them.

“Alright,” Clint shouted at their booth, taking a sip of his drink.  “The plan is… The plan the plan the plan is… Alright, so we get to Time Square, right, and then we… Fuck, I don’t know.  Steve, you’re the man with the plan, what do you think?”

“My plan is that we all just sort of hold hands and run,” Steve replied.  “If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to actually celebrate the year together.”

“And if we’re not?” Natasha asked.

“If we’re not, then we’ll see each other tomorrow, if we can actually make it back to the bakery.  It’ll just be like last year is all.”

“Next year, we should have a party on the roof,” Bruce said.  “No loud and stressful crowds or anything, just drinking and those little mini hot dogs wrapped in croissant rolls.  God, those sound good.  Don’t those sound good?”

Steve shushed him as he checked his watch, before pulling out his wallet and handing money over to their server, not bothering to wait for change.  “You can all pay me back later, we’ve got to go not if we wanna get there!”

Just like that, they were back in Times Square to wait for the ball to drop.  The five of them held hands as they weaved through the crowd, though the chain broke off, leaving Bruce, Bucky, and Steve together. 

“I guess the plan didn’t work as well as we had hoped,” Bruce shouted at the top of his lungs, and even then it was hard to hear him. 

“They’ll be fine, they’re big kids, they can handle the crowd,” Steve shouted back.

Bucky, shivering, pressed himself to Steve’s side, and Steve tucked him under his arm.  “It’s funny how much slower time seems to go when it’s cold as balls out,” Bucky yelled.

“You should’ve worn a hat, you idiot!” Steve affectionately replied, bending to press his lips into Bucky’s hair.  It felt nice to be able to do that, to be able to kiss Bucky whenever he wanted, and to also actually have Bucky, his Bucky, back in his arms. 

He had gone from living alone in a building with his coworkers to living with his best friend in a building with more friends.  He had money and a roof over his head, food in his kitchen, and blankets on his bed.  He wasn’t alone, and he didn’t have to be anymore.  He seldom felt as low as he had just two years ago, and he felt better than he had in ages.  He had been through deaths, he had been through regaining of life, he had baked and baked and baked and had gone on adventures in his city.  In all his thirty years of life, this had been one of the best, and he got to celebrate it with people he wanted to celebrate with. 

Sure, the year had hit a few bumps along the way, mostly involving his depression, but for the most part, he was stable again.  Though he depended on his relationships with others to keep him happy, he was still happy, which was so much better than being sad and not having anybody to rely on. 

As the final minute arrived and people began screaming, Steve squeezed both Bucky and Bruce, and as the ball fell and fireworks went off, Steve pulled Bucky close for another kiss, feeling sad that the year had ended but thankful for the things it gave.

“Happy New Year’s,” Bucky said in Steve’s ear, reaching a gloved metal hand down for Steve’s, and the year was over.

\------

Nobody was surprised when Bucky and Steve decided to get married a year later.  It had come up in a discussion they were having; there was no dropping to a knee or romantic dinner, but rather when they were lying in bed one night, Bucky’s back to Steve’s front. 

The wedding had been small and quiet, and they skipped a honeymoon to just have a day trip to the beach before it was back to working in Potts’ Pies, surrounded by friends, strangers, and people they loved.  Memories intact, the two were very happy and very in love, and their little apartment above the bakery is where they kept living as the baker and his soldier.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for reading! I hope you liked it.


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